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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26812102">Thotday the 13th Part III</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies'>oncewewerezombies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tumblr Fills [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hiveswap, Homestuck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftercare, Age Difference, Alien Biology, Alien Cultural Differences, Alley Sex, Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society (Homestuck), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Alternia is Terrible, Alternian Empire, Ancestor-Era (Homestuck), Ancestors (Homestuck), Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Banter, Biting, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Body Worship, Bondage, Branding, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Bruises, Bulge Sucking (Homestuck), Bulge Warming, Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Captivity, Choking, Cloaca, Closet Sex, Collars, Come Inflation, Come Marking, Consentacles, Cult of the Mirthful Messiahs, Cumshot, Cynicism, Davesprite (Homestuck) Has A Cloaca, Deepthroating, Denizens of the Outer Rings, Domestic Fluff, Dominance, Double Penetration in One Hole, Dream Bubbles (Homestuck), Dreambubbles, Dubious Ethics, Earth C Au, Empress Feferi Peixes, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, FLARP, Face-Sitting, Feeding Kink, Femdom, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Forest Sex, Frottage, Gangsters, Gillplay, Grimdark, Grubscars, Hemospectrum Kink, Human Furniture, Humiliation, Intercrural Sex, Intermission (Homestuck), Leashes, M/M, Massage, Masturbation, Mind Control, Mirror Sex, Moirails With Pails, Mommy Issues, Mommy Kink, Multiple Penetration, Nook Eating (Homestuck), Nook Fingering (Homestuck), Nook Worship (Homestuck), Omorashi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Outside Sex, Overstimulation, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Quadrant Vacillation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recuperacoon Sex, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Self-Hatred, Selfcest, Semi-Clothed Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Sextoys, Sexual Roleplay, Shibari, Size Difference, Spanking, Sprites, Stripping, Subjuggulators, Submission, Threesome - F/M/M, Tittyfuck, Violent Sex, Voyeurism, War Trophy, Water, Wetting, adjusting to a new body, all captors have dual bulges, bratty sub, friends who fuck, handjob, hemocaste kink, moulting/shedding, no bucket, pre-retjohn, size queen, tummy bulge, vulture culture</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:07:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,667</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26812102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinktober 2020!</p><p>1. Bro/Eridan (TW: BDSM without a safeword)<br/>2. Condesce/Alpha Dave (TW: Noncon, sex slavery)<br/>3. Davesprite/John Egbert<br/>4. Cronus/Psiioniic<br/>5. Dave Strider/Equius (TW: mild body horror, picking)<br/>6. Feferi Peixes/Equius<br/>7. Darkleer/GHB (TW: dubcon, violence)<br/>8. Chixie Roixmr/Marvus Xoloto<br/>9. Davepetasprite/ARquisprite<br/>10. Dualscar/Condesce/GHB<br/>11. Dualscar/Cronus<br/>12. Latula Pyrope/Porrim Maryam<br/>13. Equius Zahhak/GHB/Condesce<br/>14. Diamonds Droog/Spades Slick<br/>15. Meulin Leijon/Kurloz Makara<br/>16. Bro/GHB<br/>17. Beforus Karkat/Cronus Ampora<br/>18. Aradia Megido/Tavros Nitram<br/>19. Dave Strider/Jane Crocker<br/>20. Gamzee Makara/Equius Zahhak<br/>21. Rose Lalonde/Eridan Ampora<br/>22. Signless/Dualscar<br/>23. Cronus Ampora/Damara Megido/Eridan Ampora<br/>24. Gamzee Makara/Nepeta Leijon<br/>25. Summoner/Darkleer<br/>26. Equius Zahhak/Vriska Serket<br/>27. Chahut Maenad/Skylla Koriga<br/>28. GHB/Condesce/Karkat Vantas (TW: noncon, mind control)<br/>29. Jade Harley/Sollux Captor/Mituna Captor<br/>30. Dave Strider/Momlonde (TW: mommy kink, age gap)<br/>31. Dirk/Rose/Gamzee</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aradia Megido/Tavros Nitram, Chixie Roixmr/Marvus Xoloto, Cronus Ampora/Beforus Karkat Vantas, Cronus Ampora/Eridan Ampora/Damara Megido, Cronus Ampora/Orphaner Dualscar, Cronus Ampora/The Psiioniic | The Helmsman, Darkleer/Grand Highblood (Homestuck), Darkleer/The Summoner (Homestuck), Dave Strider/Equius Zahhak, Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider/Grand Highblood, Davepetasprite/ARquiusprite, Davesprite/John Egbert, Diamonds Droog/Spades Slick, Equius Zahhak/The GrandHighblood/The Condesce, Eridan Ampora/Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider, Eridan Ampora/Rose Lalonde, Feferi Peixes/Equius Zahhak, Gamzee Makara/Equius Zahhak, Jade Harley/Sollux Captor/Mituna Captor, Jane Crocker/Dave Strider, Karkat Vantas/The Condesce/Grand Highblood, Meulin Leijon/Kurloz Makara, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Nepeta Leijon/Gamzee Makara, Orphaner Dualscar/The Signless | The Sufferer, Porrim Maryam/Latula Pyrope, Rose Lalonde/Dirk Strider/Gamzee Makara, Rose's Mom | Beta Roxy Lalonde/Dave Strider, Skylla Koriga/Chahut Maenad, The Condesce/Dirk's Bro | Alpha Dave Strider, The Condesce/Grand Highblood/Orphaner Dualscar, Vriska Serket/Equius Zahhak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tumblr Fills [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/590335</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>171</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. like houdini if houdini was a sexual sadist (Warning: BDSM without a safeword)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>1. <b>Bathing/Water | Trolls Pailing Without Buckets </b>| Macro/Micro | <b>Nipple/Grubscar Play</b></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This has to be the weirdest set up for a fuck that you've ever engineered, and you have built some god damn doozies.</p><p>Still, when you've got a canvas like this in front of you, what sort of artist would you be if you didn't experiment with some brand new shit to try and do it justice? You are lucky you have a <i>wide</i> range of contacts, or what's in front of you would never have been possible. Apparently it had been a dolphin viewing tank or some shit, before something this size for a fish as intelligent as a fucking dolphin was considered cruel and unusual animal abuse. Or whatever, you'd picked the tank up for a song because no one could use it for what it had been built for, let's go with that. It's something like an above ground pool but with clear plexiglass walls that give you a good view of the contents all the way around.  If you can be real here for a second, shit feels like something that belongs in Dr Evil's lair, filled with furious mutated sea bass (with fricking laser beams attached to their fricking heads).</p><p>At least some of the atmosphere feels like a Bond movie, but in the cinematic version. the Bond girl wasn't usually naked when they were in their position of extreme predicament. And Bond wasn't the one who put them there. Eridan looks real fucking good suspended with a thick rope by his ankles , arms tied behind his back and mouth gagged. Thanks to the transparent walls, you can watch as he writhes around like a sexy version of the water torture tank escape trick. You've taped vibes to his grubscars and just underneath the lateral slashes of his main gills using waterproof tape; they're going to sting like a bitch when you pull them off, bondage tape is a lot more forgiving but you hadn't wanted them falling off before you were ready. You've stuffed his nook with the troll version of a dildo - a shamestick; wasn't that just bitchingly evocative of them - and his ass with a nice thick plug, as well as taping more vibes against his bulgesheath.</p><p>He's stuffed in every hole and bound so all he can do is wiggle, while foggy tendrils of purple disappear into the water as they drift out from around the edges of where the toy is stuffed into his nook. His bulge is all the way out, trying to curl around itself as you catch Eridan's eyes through the tank wall and hold up the control for the vibes. Making sure he can see it, and the fact that your thumb is on the dial. You've been letting him get used to things. Biding your time.</p><p>His gorgeous violet eyes widen and he shakes his head, tugging at the ropes holding his arms behind his back and trying to kick. All he does is make himself spin in the water like a fuckable pinata. It's not the best metaphor you've ever come up with, but you'll go with it. With a bare crease hinting at a smile, you spin the dial up to full and he arches like he's been electrocuted and purple <i>floods</i> out into the surging waters of the pool. He shudders and arches, and the waves slop over the rim of the tank as he thrashes like the fish on a line he fucking is and you let the vibes keep rolling until he goes limp. </p><p>Sliding the intensity back down, you just let your thumb rub over the control wheel without spinning it back up again, watching as Eridan's lids flutter - both his primary and his secondary ones, the ones that look like silver film. Kid looks about damn near dead, but you know how hard it would be to actually kill a troll like him. And he's in water, yeah? In his element. You'd talked the whole scene out with him before you dropped him in the tank, and he hadn't seemed to think it was a problem. But you know it could be a problem, and that makes your breathing go harsh and shallow while you watch him twitch, wondering if you've both finally found a limit he can't flip the bird at. Your erection is pressing painfully against the fly of your jeans, but you don't want to finish this yet.</p><p>You don't know yet if you're gonna pull him out of the tank to fuck that sloppy nook raw or just cum in the water so he can breathe it in (you're a sick fuck, but he loves that kinda shit and so do you), but you know you've got a few more orgasms to wring out of this bitch yet.</p><p>His eyes open and you can tell he's not all there. That means he's alive, at least. </p><p>You hit the dial again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. if i'm gonna eat somebaydy (it might as whale be you) (Warning: noncon)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>2. Exhibitionism | <b>Cum/Slurry Inflation | Humiliation</b> | Mothergrub</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You let your grasper rest on the head of your pet, scratching your claws idly through that mass of rough golden hair. Humans were glubbing weir-d and make no fuckin' mistake. But they did mako wonderful toys. He's sufferin', no doubt. You'd packed his tummy swollen full of your slurry before you'd plugged him up as you'd rolled out of 'coon this evening, but what the fuck else is he for? A failed enemy, a disgraced kismesis - or somefin like. Kurloz is still glubbing sulking aboat it too, pike you picked up Dayhve just to fuck with <i>him</i>. It's kinda funny, reelly. It's nice to know he cares, yoar ole clownfish.</p>
<p>It's not like Dahyve really means somefin to you. He's an excuse, a conchvenient hole. And anywave, when you destroy a motherfucking revolution, you desurf what you can grab in the aftermath as a trophy. Urth had been such a strange lil planet, but what you had liked aboat it, was that it had plenty of water. You'd increased that, of course. It's a seadweller nursery now, once you'd cleaned off all the vermin. It's what you do; you clear the native population the fuck out in murderous rampages so that your trolls, your Empire can move in and set up hive the way that suits you best.</p>
<p>But you'd kept one creature from Urth. Just a super special lil one.</p>
<p>Humans are so <i>warm</i>, it's like sinking your bulge into a hot towel every time you fuck Dahyve. You'd thought aboat keepin' the otter one too, but she'd put up a reel fight when it had come down to the end. You can't be too sad aboat it; you'd kept her skull as a trophy. Nice and central in the helmsblock, looking down over your Helmsman. It's a special place for you. You think if the beach had had a chance, Rrhose would have agreed wave you that it was the rayght plaice for you to stick her cranium. You betta she would have got a <i>kick</i> out of your lil Tunafish. </p>
<p>Still, she's dead, stone fucking cold and cleaned out bones - she'd forced your hand at the end there, when you'd been tying up your loose ends. But Dayhve...mmm. Dayvhe is still around. You don't really know how you managed to circumvent his deathwish but here you are, and now he's yours, yours he will glubbing stay. At least until you can clean his skull and stick it up right next to his frond's. A gill needs her littol trophies, after all, and it's easier if they're in the same plaice. So you can gloat with efishiency, as it weir.</p>
<p>You drag your claws from the top of his skull to his nape, and then pull yourshellf to your walkingstubs, jerking on his leash. You're tired of this shit, tired of listening to people excuse their motherfucking incompetencies. As you stride off to somewharu a little more fucking private with Dayhve stumbling along behind you despite all the slurry you'd put in him alraydy swelling out his belly, you snap your fingers at one of your securiwrathy trolls to get the numbnuts' attention.</p>
<p>"Krill that basshoal for me," you say, jerking your head back to the seadweller standing with flapping jaw and dumbfounded expression in front of your throne. Hook. You been Empress long enough to have lost your motherfucking patience with incompetence, and you know a barrage of excuses for fucking shit up when you hear it. And that was <i>all</i> this jerk-off had had spouting outta his mouth. He shoalda known betta than to come in here and say that ship to you. "The Empress says that beach is to get culled, for the raysons of they fucking pissed me off  by bein' such a dumb fuck, you net me."</p>
<p>"Yes, Empress," the servile blueblood murmurs before you push the doors open in front of you and sashay your way into the corridor. By the time you've pushed your human bulgewarmer up against the wall, you can hear the sounds of dying screams behind you. Your human's jaw tightens, like he can do anyfin to stop you - that's so praycious. He tries to struggle against the binder holding his arms behind his back as you hoist his legs up around your waist, pinning him up against the wall as you unzip and unleash the kraken. He always struggles against you, all soft and warm and <i>vulnerable</i> pretendin' like he's still got a chance of bein' a reel threat to ya. He never wins, no matter how hard he kicks and tries to fight you off. You love that ship, makes you feel like you're conquering and destroying that shitty little planet all over again every time you pail.</p>
<p>Your fangs nip at Dahyve's throat as you hitch his lean body up, bulge pressing up between his thighs to find that well-lubed hole even while he's trying to kick you. Another fumbling moment as you remember that fucking plug, and pull it out. Fuchsia puddles around your high heeled shoes as it gushes out of him as he hisses around the gag you'd shoved in his nonstop fucking bladdermouth, but you ignore it. Ain't like you gonna be the one cleaning shit up, and you planning to add to it betides. The look in his eyes, it's pure fuckin' malice and pitchblack hate. It just makes your nook wetter and you moray eager to cram your bulge up into him. And since it's your ship, your Empire and your bulgesleeve, you don't sea no rayson to wait around.</p>
<p>So you don't. </p>
<p>Ain't like it's gonna be the first tide you've fucked him in a corridor. People otter be used to you by now.</p>
<p>"Oh, fuck yeah," you groan as you push your bulge into him to feel him squirm and clench. Fucking <i>mammals</i>. You kinda wish sometides Rrhose had been the one to survive - she had a whole nother hole for you to play with - but she'd been too sharp to let you do that shit. You'd been left with the dumb one outta your pair of rebels. But damn, he shore is pretty so you don't mind too much. </p>
<p>He hisses and he'd bite you if he could, but the gag is for moray than just the aesthetic and the fact that he could talk the hindquarter off a braybeast. You got a tear in your earfin from when you'd forgotten the gag once and got too close, just a little reminder that he still has teeth and can use 'em. He still fights, he hates, and it just makes this shit so much <i>fun</i>. When it gets boring, you'll probubbly krill him - or you just manta give him to your clownfish. Anywave, that's a way off yet and right minnow, you enjoy the fact that you and Dayhve both know that everyone in the throneroom can hear you fuck him like the beach he is, the sounds of slaughter having died away and leaving quiet behind the door.</p>
<p>They won't disturb you, they know betta. You're just petty enough to enjoy really rubbing it in when you got somefin that nobaydy else does . Setting your fangs in his shoulder, you slam into him hard enough to mako a reel good <i>BANG</i> against the wall, and you hear somefin like a choked laugh and grin to yourshellf, rolling your oculars up to enjoy Dayhve's humiliation. And then he butts you in the forehead, your two skulls colliding with a clack you feel more than hear, but he's the one who comes off the worst of it. Nofin like the density of a skull that's been evolved to grown horns against his weaksauce human shellf. You chuckle to yourshellf dryly as his sightnuggets go glassy, and settle into the rhythm of your hips, the feel of your bulge up his 'chute as he slumps against you. All that's holding him up now is you, all that pitiful defiance melted away.</p>
<p>"You're mine," you hiss into his auricular clot, and manage a more vindictive than usual thrust. The air is forced out of him in a gasp, chin wet with drool as his head lolls. "And when you die...you'll die knowing <i>I owned you</i>, Dayhve Strider."</p>
<p>You don't mind the truth. You always know just how to make it hurt.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. when you know you have nobody sometimes you want to be somebody's somebody</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>3. Pet Play | Predator/Prey | Spanking | <b>Cloaca </b></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"John, if you're just going to stare at it, I'm going to kick you out of here," you say tightly, feeling sensitive skin twitch as John rests his chin on part of your tail, almost nose to hole with your - well, you don't know what to fucking call it. It's where shit used to be that you knew what it was, and now you've just got a kind of slit. His warm breath drifting over it. It's not even his breath so much, you can't stand the way he's just staring, so intently. It makes you feel like more of a fucking freak than a whole bunch of other shit that has happened, the way John looks at you sometimes. Ha, come and look at Jojo the birdwinged boy, and guess what, he has no dick!</p>
<p>Shit, you miss your dick.</p>
<p>If you still had your dick, you wouldn't be in this fucking situation. Things had gotten...weird, with Jade but John is your buddy, your pal and if you both say no homo, none of this counts as anything gay. Still, with him looking at you like this, you can't help squirming and you have never really been able to control the whole...tail thing. Far as you're concerned, it has a mind of its fucking own. You'd say it was like your dick, but despite all your internet boasting, your throbbing spam dolphin was never fucking six feet long.</p>
<p>"It's different, Davesprite!" John objects, with that stupid bucktoothed grin that turns you weak and pissed you the fuck off by turn. You wish like fuck he'd just call you Dave. You're still...you're still you. Even considering the circumstances. But he won't, and you'd brought it up once in a wandering way and you know you'll never have the fucking courage to do it again. You're Dave<i>sprite</i> now, and that means you're not Dave at all. "Look at it...it's so soft..."</p>
<p>"I've looked at it plenty," you snap back, and squirm as you inhale sharply while he drags a rough fingertip around the outside of the weird fucking...thing you'd woken up from the dead with. Surprise, you've got a sword the fuck through you, wings, a tail and some kind of bird pussy to replace everything you'd thought made you a man. With the way John is looking at you, and touching that thing - you can't do anything but wiggle and squirm, like a bug on a pin. "You going to do something with it, Johnny boy, or just stare at it like it's the next attraction on god damn Disney on fucking Ice?"</p>
<p>"I'll do something," he promises, in that way that says he ain't gonna do shit. You know John. You know all his tones of voice, all his fucking idiosyncrasies. He spreads it with his thumbs and you can't help making a chirping sort of sound. John shoots you that fucking stupid grin again, and then he leans in - and your whole brain goes <i>white</i>.</p>
<p>He licks it from bottom to top, warm and wet and <i>slick</i>. While you're kind of flopping about and trying to decide what that sensation actually was, he does it again. Trust John to have no sense of fucking proportion. John's tongue licks over the slit that you've suddenly found is remarkably oversensitive to this kind of stimulation and you can't help the chirps and caws that you're making.</p>
<p>You want to moan - you trill. You try to groan - a crow sound comes out. You can't say stop - you can't say <i>anything<i> - all you can do is writhe as John destroys you with that tongue that he does way too much talking with. When he could have been doing <i>this</i>.</i></i></p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>"Want me to stop?" that complete and utter FUCKING asshole says, lifting his head for a moment and his mouth smeared with orange something or other. You really don't want to think about it too much - but you don't want to think about any of this too much. You just want to get off.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>"Fuck, no," you say firmly, and shove his head back down to your neopussy. If he's talking, he's not eating you out and suddenly, that would be a crime against fucking nature.</i>
  </i>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. see vwhat lookin pretty cool vwill get ya</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>4. Orgasm Delay/Denial | <b>Age Difference</b> | Drone Season | <b>Sopor/Recupercoon Sex</b></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You wake up and you can already feel the tips of your matesprite's bulges working their way into you, slow and gentle as they open you all the way up for the rest of them. You kinda groan, but not like you're really objecting here, no sir, no fucking way. You throw your arms over the edge of the 'coon and let out a low, long moan as you feel him working both of those warm bulges into your nook. You'd put up a fuss about it if you cared, but as far as you're concerned, he can pail you anytime he feels a fucking fancy to. It always feels so good - and you're nothing if not weak for something that feels good. And you know it makes him happy, so that's like a fucking bonus as far as you're concerned.</p>
<p>"Woke up feelin' frisky this evenin', hey, chief," you chuckle, trying to tease him, and then lose your breath as he pushes harder into you. All your sass dissolves into a moan, and you feel the heat of him against your back, his two thick bulges buried in your nook. You don't bother to hide your moan of satisfaction, and you can feel him chuckle his low raspy snicker against the back of your neck as he thrusts into you again, and again, and again. Your nook is stuffed to the point of exploding, bringing delirious pinprick tears of pain to your oculars. You won't tell him to stop. You never would. Not when it feels this fucking good.</p>
<p>His arm encircles your thorax, pulling you back onto his thrusts as you moan and breathe and pant. The sopor is a warm wave around you, it makes everything feel unreal. You're still half-asleep, but it's mostly like waking from one dream to another - a significantly fucking better one, thank you. Sometimes you still can't believe he's real. That this is real. That he picked <i>you</i>. If you were a bonafide heroic survivor of the Alternian Empire (and one of the worst treated), one of the last things you're pretty sure you'd want to do is fool around with someone like you - but surprise! When you'd met in the bubbles, you'd really hit it off - and when everyone had woken up dazed and confused on lush grass and significantly not deceased any more, he hadn't decided to dump you. Even after he met his friends again. Things had really turned out pretty great for you. And him, a course. You're a fucking hot piece of ass, amongst all your other stellar fucking qualities.</p>
<p>"I'd say your cute ass made me wake up horny, babe," he growls and you can't help shuddering, feeling your nook clench tighter around him. God, that's fucking sexy. He's just straight up sexy - all scarred and lean, and <i>way</i> bigger than you - older - fuck, you love it. With all that experience and knowledge and he still pities you the most out of all the people he knows, all the people he's met. Fuckin' amazing. Rolling your head to the side, you give him an invitation to nip and he does, those sharp pointed fangs crowded way too close together in his maw sinking into your shoulder and neck as he hums with satisfaction. "Besides, you love how much fffuckin' bulge I can get in you. Don't you, bulgeslut?"</p>
<p>"Fuck <i>yes</i>," you agree fervently, and just try to keep yourself from knocking yourself out on the rim of the recupercoon as he thrusts into you harder and faster from behind. You get real fucking loud the harder and deeper he fucks you, not bothering to hold anything back. He fills you with warm golden geneslurry and you trill your pusher out with satisfaction, then make him carry you to the ablutionblock to get clean of sopor and slurry. What? It's the least he can do, and he didn't <i>have</i> to carry you in his arms, he's got psionics - but he did. You want to think that he did it because he's a romantic, but you're pretty sure it's just because it meant he could get two fingers into your sore nook to make you whine and whisper more dirty nothings into your earfin.</p>
<p>You have absolutely no problems with any of that. And when the smallest Captor makes a comment over grubtoast at breakfast about how some people really needed to look into getting either sound silencing shit on their walls or their own space, all you gave him was a sneer. Sad some people gotta be that petty and jealous, but there wasn't much he could do about it. When Psii comes to join you at the communal nutritionplateau, you turn a grin on him and wiggle your earfins.</p>
<p>"So, hey, babe, Sollux was just askin' for some pailing tips," you say, while Sollux splutters and shakes his head extravagantly in denial. Too fucking bad. If he wanted to play, you'd fucking play. You've got no fucking shame and the way Psii's eyes light up, ruby and sapphire, is making it totally worth it. "Seems like like he ain't doin' as well for Eridan as you're doing for me, you dig?"</p>
<p>"Uh huh, I get it," Psii says and steeples his fingers in front of his chin, elbows on the table as he looks at Sollux. Who is now miming gagging and sliding to the floor out of his chair. "So you want some seadweller pailing tips? You've come to the right fuckin' troll for that, because I'm like the fuck, the fucking Troll Miyagi of fucking finnies...see, what you gotta do is..."</p>
<p>And he goes on to continue in great and explictly glowing detail as Sollux begs for mercy and you demurely tuck into your breakfast. Serves him right. Besides, looking sideways at Psii, you can tell that he's getting worked up again and honestly? You'd be lying if you said that wasn't at least part of the plan.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. do you have enough love in your heart (to get your hands dirty) (Warning: Body horror, picking)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>5. <b>Body Worship | Molting/Shedding </b>| Horn Play | Somnophilia/Sleepy Sex</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"This is disgusting, and you should not feel obliged to assist me in this revoltingly bodily matter," you object, but not as strongly as you had the first time while Dave carefully smooths his fingers over part of your carapace where it's starting to lift away from your softer internal skin. Trolls are rough and hard on the outside but where you are vulnerable - <i>oh</i> - you are so <i>very</i> vulnerable. Having his warm fingers touch those painfully vulnerable inner parts is making you shiver, and you grit your teeth. Close your eyes for a moment to hold yourself together, as he starts to peel the shred away. You pant, because it hurts but it doesn't really hurt (and it does, it does hurt so much), it's a good <i>clean</i> feeling and he's doing it <i>so</i> carefully.</p><p>Something in your chest clenches with a terrible aching pity for him.</p><p>"What kind of boyfriend would I be, huh, if I couldn't help my weirdly handsome and exceptionally muscular BEM type boyfriend with his weird-ass fucking puberty shit," Dave says, and you open your mouth again, frowning but you don't get a chance to say anything before he's waving his last statement away with a flick of his hand. "Yeah, I know, it's not puberty because you're definitely all man, baby, it's just because you guys just don't stop fucking growing but your actual fucking external armour doesn't grow with what's underneath. So it's gotta come off sometimes. Babe, it's fine. You don't get weird and grossed out by the fact that I'm always dropping skin cells and hair."</p><p>You were and still are at least a little horrified by it when you think about it (you try not to think about it, or what constitutes the body of the dust when you clean), if you have to be honest but you're not going to say so to Dave. Not now, when he's assisting you with such an intimate practice. It's something that a troll does allow a matesprit to help with - for those tricky bits between the shoulder blades mostly. Or a moirail, if that's the red-pity shaded quadrant that a troll has filled. Both you and Nepeta had spent many cosy evenings together picking away shedsplinters and comforting each other through the ache of losing parts of one's body and the changes that come with that. This, with Dave...it feels different.</p><p>It feels. Charged. Hot. Somehow...electric. </p><p>You lick your lips, watching as he focuses over another piece of shed and starts to pick at it with his blunt little nails, round-lensed shades almost falling off his nose. With a mutter, he removes them from his face to get them out of the way and puts them on the slumberplatform table. When he's finished with most of one forearm, he runs his hand in a considering way up the length of your arm. Taking a moment to squeeze your bicep on the way.</p><p>Something like a mating trill catches in your throat at the blatant appreciation for your body, and you cough, looking down in a sudden surge of embarrassment. When you look back up again, Dave's skilled fingers pull your own shades off your face and you blink at him. You'd say something, but you're once again arrested by the splendour of his carmine eyes. They're so brilliantly, beautifully red. It would be a lie to say you can manage anything besides melting apart in his gaze. His soft mouth quirks in a wry little smile, and then he leans in and kisses you, hand sliding up into your hairline from the back of your neck.</p><p>"Hi, handsome," he murmurs, and you can't hold back your own smile as he kisses your mouth again, then a corner of it, your jaw, your cheek. His hands smooth over your bare arms, and you shudder as you feel the nails on one hand find the lifting corner of another shred. "I'm going to get all of this off you...piece...by...piece..."</p><p>"Really," you say, or try to. Your voice breaks in the middle as you feel him start to lever the shard up, working it free from its grip on your skin. Your breath is heavy in your throat, and you can feel something tensing in anticipation down below the waistband of your pants. You grope for a towel and wipe it over your face as he pulls at the splinter, working it free with slow rocking movements from your skin. His free hand catches you in the middle of your chest and pushes you down underneath him as he straddles your hips and you choke - while your bulge spills into your underwear in an inexorable rush that sends blood flushing to your cheeks in shocked shame mingled with arousal. That little quirk of a grin is all the response you get from your matesprit at first. You feel a need to apologise for your uncouth lewdness, and hasten to do so, words stumbling over themselves on their way out of your chirpblister. "I - <i>Dave</i> -"</p><p>"Just stay still, Blue Beauty," he says absently, and pulls your hand into his lap to pick at all the little shards decorating your knuckles. Carapace tends to get mazed and splintered into tiny pieces along scars, and you have so many scars on your hands. From the way just the tip of his tongue is poking, you have a feeling that he is going to take his time. "You know when I set myself a task, I'm honour bound to fulfil it, you grok me? So I guess you're just going to have to steady up and take the bit in your mouth, understanding that I am gonna run my hands all over every inch of your tight, muscular body - especially that nice tight ass - and make sure I remove every bit of this shit. I'll take all night if I have to - and you know what? I'm gonna fuckin' enjoy it."</p><p>"Oh," you say faintly, because there's not much you can say to that. Truly.</p><p>You just let him get on with it, and at some point you lose your shorts. And everything else. After all, to make sure he's true to his word, Dave has to make sure you're completely naked. And you are more than eager to assist him.</p><p>At the end of it, you are lying spent on your belly in a puddle of your own slurry while Dave carefully jerks off over your back, letting you breathe heavily into a pillow. All of your skin burns and throbs - Dave has given you a most careful and <i>thorough</i> inspection. Now you just have to wait somewhere in privacy and safety until your inner skin hardens up into the new layer of carapace. It won't take long - a night or so, but you still don't move. It's a filthy thing to lie in your own slurry, but it's worse to let Dave do what he's doing. You hear him groan and wet heat splatters up your back from your rump to your shoulders, and all you can do is whine.</p><p>If you leave it, it could absorb into your soft and pliable skin. Into all those little wounds where you are so bare and so open. It's tempting infection; you don't move. Maybe especially since you should move to remove him from yourself, from becoming part of you underneath your armour, in a place where you are vulnerable, you do not.</p><p>While you're still catching your breath, you hear the sounds of something hard plinking into glass. Soft, almost rhythmic. After a while as the sound continues, you roll over enough that you can catch a glimpse of Dave.</p><p>"What are you doing?" you ask fuzzily, wanting nothing more than to sleep. Even if really you should shower first - Dave is surprisingly alert for what you've both been doing. He holds up a shard of carapace and smiles at you. Something soft and happy, wider than before when you'd both been wearing your shades and your clothing. Something as vulnerable and bare as your soft new skin.</p><p>"I'm saving all your bits, man," he says, and shakes the jar he's holding in his other hand gently to make the shards rattle softly against the sides. "I don't want to lose any, you know?"</p><p>"...I see," you say faintly. Possibly you should tell him to stop. You've never bothered to save your shed before. It's garbage, and nothing but that. But the idea of Dave hoarding pieces of you, saving it forever as part of his collection, even if it's only discards, trash... Something in you squirms with horrified pleasure at the idea. It's vile. It's ludicrous. It's so <i>romantic</i> in a completely unappealing way. If you told him to stop, you'd break his heart and you know it. So you capitulate. "As you wish, Dave."</p><p>"You better fucking believe it, babe," he hums, and you close your eyes as another piece of your shed carapace lands with a plink into the filling jar. Humans are truly disgusting. And so very, very pitiful. You wonder what he will do, to show your shedshreds off, how he will work to make sure that in his eyes at least, they're beautiful. You think and don't think at the same time, about how many jars he could potentially accumulate. How many jars filled with you. </p><p>And you know without having to ask, that they will be in pride of place in his collection of dead things and shed objects. Maybe you shouldn't feel as touched by the thought as you are, but you can't help yourself. Never before in your life have you felt as precious and lovely to someone as you do with Dave Strider - and you would not change it for the world.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. sugar and SPIC-E and everyfin NIC-E</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>6. <b>Human/Troll Furniture | Face Sitting</b> | Temperature Play | Teeth/Claws</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You're sitting at your administrativeplane and getting down to some work, when your chair moves. You shift a little, and grind your nook down onto Equius' face almost automatically (at least it's automatic by now).  </p>
<p>"Shoosh!" you say cheerfully, making sure to move back and forth to really make him taste and feel your nook. Your bulge twines into the soft folds of your skirts, seeking sensation as the tongue of the blueblood whose face you're sitting on probes into your nook. You do wonder a little if he can breathe down there, but he hasn't made a sign yet that he wants to tap out. When he wants to, Equius can hold his breath for a R-E-ELLY long tide. "Chairs don't talk!"</p>
<p>You can feel him sigh against the most intimate parts of you and you coo softly, enjoying everyfin about both the situation and the sensation. It's a game! A reeeeelly fun game, as far as you're conchcerned. Equius is just way too easy to order around! Sometides it's nice not to have fight people to get them to do what you want. Equius never makes you fight for anyfin, he just gives it to you. Freely, and without restraint. Like it's an offering, something he doesn't think he's worthy to give you but OH, it's always the glubbing best THING! </p>
<p>If you're gonna be prawnest, you'd thought it was a little W-EIRD how eager he was to do stuff for you, to begin with. But you minnow, you spend long enough with people who don't want to do SHIT for you, and you kind of get over that! Whenever you're with Equius, he treats you like the Empress you are, and you can't pretend that you don't like that. He adores you, he'd do anyfin you asked - and he <i>enjoys</i> it, he wants to do it. When it comes to flush, you couldn't ask for anyone B-ETTA! Now you just enjoy what he would beg to do for you anywave.</p>
<p>Like sit on his face and treat him like an actual piece of furniture. It's not the only time you do; sometides you need somefin to prop your feet up on whale you watch a movie! Or you need somefin to lean on, somefin warm and muscular. Like a large and cuddly comfortslab. Moby he wouldn't be warm to many people, but you're at the top of the hemospectrum. Just aboat everyone else is warm for you, it's just a manta of degrees of how much warmer than you that they are. </p>
<p>Slowly rolling your hips from side to side and making sure to encourage Equius to keep up licking, you breathe heavily and push your hair back from your face. Grip your pen, and try to concentrate. Like, concentrate for reel! You do have work to do, but it's <i>so</i> hard to resist Equius when he makes barkbeast oculars at you and requests, very properly and with lots of hesitation and stammering, to lick your nook. He's just so CUT-E, you could just DI-E. </p>
<p>"Mmmm, this chair is so comfy," you croon, and try not to giggle as you feel Equius' breathing get heavier and more stifled against the inside of your thighs and the softness of your nook. You feel kind of silly, but you know how much he likes it when you talk, so you're reelly <i>trying</i>. "I love sitting on my chair...mmm..." And you do, it's not like that's a lie. You feel Equius stifle somefin like a moan in your nook and you shiver all over, earfins flicking rapidly. Ooooh. You don't know how much longer you can acshoally hold out! "The b-best...chair...hnnn..."</p>
<p>You stuff your fist into your mouth and rock your hips more rapidly as your other hand drops beneath your desk to scrabble your skirts up so you can find your bulge. Equius' graspers are firm around your thighs, <i>finally</i>, and you groan out loud into the security of your palm as you work your way to orgasm. Every so often, you manage to say somefin nice aboat how much you love your chair, how good it is, how comfortable, how gentle and soft and you can feel Equius moan and trill every time. Whale, he just likes to be aperchciated and you can't say anyfin against that. You've never met anyone who enjoyed praise as much as Equius though. As long as you remember that, taking care of Equius is R-E-EL -EASY! And very very nice for you.</p>
<p>Finally, you shudder your way through orgasm and soak Equius' face and all of the rest of him with fuchsia slurry, collapsing back against the support of your <i>acshoal</i> office chair. After a moment, you feel the soft touch of an expertly applied towel wiping up the inside of your thighs and then a pleased looking blueblood with his face covered in Imperial slurry slithers his way out from under your desk. Reaching out, you pinch his cheek to make him blush, and grin in that shy, broken-fanged way he has when he knows he's done a good job. That he's pleased you. It makes your pusher do somefin like a slowflip inside your chest cavity, and you can feel your expression softening with pity.</p>
<p>"Good job!" you tell him, just to mako shore he knows you're pleased, and he murmurs somefin about it being nofin, reelly. Just his duty. His service to his Empress. If he wasn't so CUT-E, you'd have somefin to say aboat that! You reach out to pull him closer by the lapel of his now fuchsia-tinted uniform, and nip his ear. You can -E-EL him shudder when you do that, while you get ready to breathe your next little somefin direct into his auricular clot. "Now let's see what your Empress can do for you, Zahhak..."</p>
<p>Reaching down, you cup him through the front of his pants and feel the stupidly large bump of his aroused bulge behind the cloth. You give it a little squeeze and feel it lash in excitement against your grip, your lips curving up into a smile as Equius almost collapses against you with a sound like a prayer. Whale, good surfice demands a good return, doesn't it? You're very happy to do this for your pretty lil flushpiece. He's just so adorable when he spills!</p>
<p>And also, it's just funny when he has to walk back to his quarters covered in two different types of slurry. You're pretty shore he likes it too; or he wouldn't keep setting things up so he had to, hehehe. Reelly, you wouldn't change Equius for ANYFIN! He's shrimply too glubbing pitiable just how he is. Without much more ado, you get down to baysiness - mainly making your pretty, highstrung blueblood come in his pants like an overexcited wiggler.</p>
<p>Wave all the work you have to do for the Empire, you think you reelly desurf a chance to just relax, and enjoy the shrimple things in life.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. stay with me (stay ignorant of love) (Warning: violence, dubcon)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>7. <b>Branding</b> | Costumes/Uniforms | Gang Bang | SBAHJ</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You smile god damn fucking beatifically at your labouring hoofbeast, breathing in the scent of smoke. Burning and metal heady scents in your sniffer, while you look him over where you've stretched a motherfucker out and roped him down grasper and frond. Making sure even a troll as strong as your ponybitch can't move more than a stub, just enough to twitch but not enough to flinch. His skin shivers in your gaze, and he looks away all shy to let his hair hide his face.</p><p>You turn away for a moment to stoke up the flame, and to check on the motherfucking instruments you've placed in there. Yeah, those bitches are turning to the right kind of colour right about fucking now. A little longer. You want shit hot enough that it doesn't stick - you want a nice clear burn. You don't want him to wiggle, and you don't want to burn more than you mean to.</p><p>"Feeling ready for this, Executioner?" you say, almost kind as you reach out to grab his hair and jerk his head up. His eyes are yellow all the way around, and he might have had something to say if you hadn't gagged him proper. His fangs grind and bite over the bar of the bit filling his maw and blocking his speech, and you kiss him on the cheek. Very softly, breathing in the scent of his fear and sweat. </p><p>"Shhh, shhh, shh. Won't be long, and won't be much, you can do this for a brother, for your motherfucking master," you murmur into his ear, and rub your thumb over his cheek as you nuzzle at his throat and ear, nipping a lobe gently with the tips of your teeth. You can't wait to see him at the end of this, burned and seared, branded and owned. He won't ever get the fuck away from you; and even if he does, he'll know who owns him to the end of his motherfucking lonely nights and sleepless days. Escape you he might but he won't be able to change what you'll have put on his hide. "You gonna look <i>real MOTHERFUCKING</i>...fine."</p><p>Pulling away again, you gust more breeze into the pit to get the flames higher and hotter. And nodding to yourself, you pull the first brand out of the fire. Before it can go cold, go to red from white, you press it against his chest, that left pectoral and lean in, putting your weight on it. He tries to twist away, sightnuggets all aroll and aroil in his nug at the sight of what's approaching, but you've bound him too firm and even though the ropes creak, though you can hear the metal core in them <i>strain</i> - they hold. Once you've held it down long enough for it to make its mark, you pull away carefully, to leave the brand clean and clear.</p><p>The scent of burning flesh and hide joins the other odours of the room. Acrid. Disgusting. Rich and overpowering as incense.</p><p>You put down the brand in the barrel of water and it hisses sullenly, craving more blood and pain as you come back to smear antibactagel on the burn. It's nice and deep, scarred into the flesh - your :o) standing out firm and in the deep blue of a well-seared burn. You've done this before, after all. </p><p>Darkleer's fainted, and you sigh a little in disappointment. After all, he boasts so much of how strong he is, and you know how motherfucking strong he is, so what's with this weak ass pussy bullshit of fainting after one little burn? Wiping your grasper clean of gel on your pants absently, you slap him across the face a few times to wake him up. You don't want him to miss any of this, after motherfucking all. This is a sacrament, something holy that he's earned. You would be motherfucking REMISS in your DUTIES if you allowed a scumblood to sleep through their anointings.</p><p>When he wakes, his eyes are huge and dark. All blue, all wide. You kiss him over the bar of the bit as he groans gutturally in the deeps of his chest and throat, tasting his pain and terror in the salt on his skin. It's so good. He's so good, so motherfucking <i>beautiful</i> when he's in agony.  </p><p>"Almost done, almost motherfucking finished, my ponybitch," you croon and pull the second iron out, eyeing it with satisfaction. Now this is a much trickier burn, closer to more sensitive things. You really don't want to miss this motherfucker up, and you've hitched his leg high and to the side to bare his thigh to you in all its glory. Messiahs hail and bless, but you do really like his motherfucking legs. Usually you'd just leave it with the :o) but you want to <i>own</i> this motherfucker. He calls to you somehow, like he's a piece of something you hadn't known as to how you was missing until you'd seen him. Known him. Fucked him. And damn, you sure do love to fuck him. You can't wait to pail him again and watch beads of sweat run down over your work on his flesh.</p><p>You press the iron deep into his thigh and scar him with your <i>personal</i> motherfucking <i>sigil</i> - the mark of Makara in all its twisted, looping glory. ♑︎, declares his flesh. ♑︎ scarred onto him forever and ever, afuckingmen. When you pull back, he's fainted again but you guess this time you'll let him have that momentary peace. You got yourself some clean-up and care to do, but there's nothing any motherfucker can do to change what you've done tonight. He'll bear your marks until the day he dies, and until he rots and you are <i>so</i> motherfucking ok with that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. just grab my bulge and deepthroat it</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>8. <b>Deep Throating</b> | Age Play | Quadrant Vacillation | Gags</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Hey, fox<i>x</i>xy mama," you greet your little starshine, your motherfunking reason to get out of the 'coon of an evening. Messiahs motherfucking know, you ain't care much for anything much (except your fans, wild as they are). You get your claws into the veil and pulled it the fuck back, and now you gotta live with what you'd seen behind the curtain. And you just ain't talking about the truth of the Empire you been hatched to, to the role and the fakeryfuck of power that any other of your blood would see as real gold. Really, it's just glitz and glimmer, there ain't nothing precious or pure to any of it at all.</p><p>This whole world is nothing more than a sham, a lie. Gold painted turds rolled around and lifted up like it gonna give 'em some worth. You remember - you remember and you don't - but everyone else seems to have forgotten fullfold. Even that little bluebitch who you woulda muthafugging sworn on your horns, may they crack and splinter if you told one ounce of a mistruth from your lips, baby - you would have sworn he'd been torn to pieces in the crowd in front of you, but for some reason, he still breathes. Sometimes you mention something, and everyone looks puzzled until you crack a sick joke, a nasty mothafucka rhyme that they have come to expect of their performing clown and they all laugh, they laugh and relief washes over them and you bet they ain't got a clue as to why.</p><p>Still.</p><p>Ain't like it's all bad.</p><p>There are definite...benefits, haHA, to being in the timeline you are now. It might not be canon, but that don't mean it ain't some kinda fucking fun. And any ninja worth his salts will grab his kicks where he can get 'em, ain't that just fucking so, juggalos and juggalas?</p><p>"Marvus," she hums, and you lean down to wrap an arm around her waist and rest your chin for a moment in the squeakbeast nest of her hair. Maybe she rolling with you now, maybe she got all fancy shizz coming outta her glazeynuggs, but she still a god damn mess. Don't you love it? You do, oh so you do. She just a mirror to you, all warm and a mess while you purple and polished. But her words, her <i>flow</i>, she spits raps to shame any motherfucker who even thought about dipping stub to paint. If she'd been in your round of Slam or Be Culled, you mighta actually faced some stiff competition. If they'd have let a <i>brownblood</i> get so far, which you fucking doubt. Shizz be rigged like a crooked carny game, bro, and while you hadn't known till almost the end, you can't deny what knowledge you do learn. "Did you want something? Aren't you onstage in like...five minutes, dude, come on."</p><p>"Yeah," you admit, loving the way her voice lilts and sings outta her chirpbox even when she just speaking au naturel. When she gets her rage on - <i>wow</i>. You don't think there's anything that could give you a wriggly and sopping nook faster, but then again. All she has to do is look at you, and here she is all sweaty and warmed up from tearing shreds from highbloods with her mouth and tongue, and usually you got plans for that mouth, that tongue - but y'ain't got the time for that. You pull her towards a closet and lean down as you reach around her to open the door before shuffling you both into it.</p><p>She hits you on the shoulder and you squat down a bit to hoist her up onto a shelf - empty by muthafuckin design, brah. Maybe you had had a chance to slip your minders backstage and do a little reconfuckingteering, huh? Chixie squeals, then shoves her hand over her mouth as you push up her dress. Eyes all popping big and wide through the holes in her mask, the little lie that is demanded of her so she can make her words and voice her coded truths to those who might have auriculars to hear. Not many, if you know these shitkickers and bootlickers but maybe just a one. Here and there.</p><p>"Believe me, boo, this ain't gonna take long. I know how you get after a hot ay ef show, holla," you say, shoving your face under the loose and dragging hem of her dress and getting real friendly with her intimate parts. Inhaling, you can smell her sweat, her fire. And her <i>desire</i>. You're two trolls of a type, the stage is everything you live for it for puts you on a pyre. Flesh condemned to burn, pusher strained to beat in rhythm, and chirpbox dedicated to the flow. To the words and the audience, to stand in spotlight and feel the attention of the crowd on you like a great <i>beast</i>. Hungry to devour and somehow you gotta keep shovelling out the words and the notes to keep it fed. Maybe your blood runs different colours, but in your cardiopushers, you beating to the same righteous beat. "This just for funzies and shizz, ay?"</p><p>"Marvus, we're going to get <i>caught</i>, you stupid, stupid <i>clown</i> -" she hisses down at you and you'd smile at her but you got better things to do with your maw. And that's lick her, suck her sheath and soft sweet nooklips until she's squirming and grabbing at you to press you in closer rather than pull you off. Oh, she's a <i>blaze</i>, your something something maybe flush maybe pale maybe pitch little partner. She's your boo, your baby, your sweet motherfucking muse and tender slice of chocomocha pie. "Fuck! You - <i>fuck!</i>"</p><p>You chuckle and lick her until her bulge is squirming free, and then you take it in your mouth. While her legs kick above your shoulders and one hand grabs at the end of one horn and the base of the other, you take the whole wriggling thing deep into your throat. There's a trick to this shizz, ay mang. And you got the motherfucking knack. Even when it comes to a bulge as long and thick as Chixie's. Whoo motherfucker, they ain't been kidding no shit when they talk about what bronzebloods be packing up behind those sheathes. Errybody be talking on bluebloods, boi, you gonna put your skrilla on the lowdown end of the spectrum for the motherfucking biggest bulges, no motherfucking doubt.</p><p>It's a struggle and a half to swallow, but you put forth the effort because to hear her moan like that be <i>worth</i>. It's god damn gold, the real and true fucking measure of delight and playsure. Your jaw stretches, and you feel water dripping from the corners of your oculars. It's lucky for you that you got a real fuxxking big mouth, lol. You swallow, choke and motherfucking work that bulge with tongue and windtunnel until your boo be crying out supersweet, tacky as cottoncandy and cherry pie. Claws digging into your skull and messing up your hair as her feet press holes into your shoulders while her whole body shimmyshimmyshakes and she unloads a lake's worth of slurry down your throat.</p><p>You swallow, because what else you gonna do? Spoil your outfit right before you head out on stage? You don't fucking think so, no way. </p><p>Once your whole swaller's down, you kind of peel yourself away and wipe your mouth. Give her thigh a fond little pat while she looks at you all bleary-nuggeted and you grin. Damn, you feeling fine! You got a wiggly and a half fucking going, but that's no fucking matter. All it means is that the fans is gonna scream a lil louder, that's all. They all want you, and for the blazing moment you're in front of all those eyes and pushers - you want them. But Chixie been got the know on of where you come hive to. And it's to <i>her</i>. Maybe that ain't always been the case but you never been a fan chaser. She knows she ain't got nothing to worry about, and neither do you.</p><p>She all shiver and pant from being under your tongue and inside your throat, soft and wanton in front of you and you kiss her shoulder, her neck, her mouth. Because how could you fucking not, when it's all open and wanting for you right there. You love the taste of her all over, from frondstub to eartip. But especially between her bountiful fucking thighs.</p><p>"You have bronze on your teeth, Marvus," she points out, and you shrug, cos no doubt it's true. When you eat something, you get all the way in there. And that includes sucking bulge as much as anything else, yeah mang.</p><p>"Motherfucking yeah, you bet, lmao," you say, and grin wider. You kiss her, because why the fuck wouldn't you and it's as pale and soft as beach sands, even as you got the taste of her slurry in your choketunnel and on your flavourslab. She makes you wanna be better, and ain't that all there is to the truth in any of the four quadrants? The hows and the whys might shift about, but that's as true as it motherfucking gets. It's more true than the Messiahs that get held up for your clownren, and more true than the smile of the Empress. Once you'd seen the lie, the few truths you could dig your claws into had become all the more precious. "See you after the show, shawty."</p><p>When you stride your way onto the stage, cane in hand and graspers up to flow adulation to your listening ears, you know your paint is mussed and there's a tinge of bronze to your fangs. You'd blown past your crew on your way on stage so they couldn't fuck it up by fixing it, and you know that the tabroids are gonna blow up screaming. Any publicity is good publicity, and now you've got some truth to hold, you wanna flaunt the FUCK out of it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. so fly i'm a meowtherfurricking flight risk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>9. Dream Bubble Sex | Full Body Restraints | <b>Massaging | Sprites</b></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Mew know, ARquius, murr looking pretty tense," you declare as you look over your delight of your afterlife, the spring to your step, the purr to your kitten. He's a big hunk of red-hot burning love, and to be pawnest, both parts of you are pretty crazy fur both parts of him. Integrating into one being hadn't been nearly as hard fur mew as it had been fur some of your furends. And enemies, mew guess, but mew really only care about your furends. Pawnestly, that feeling of only caring about people impawtent to mew is something you inherited from both sides of murr spritedom sources. "How about a massage?"</p>
<p>"That sounds like a desperately transparent excuse for you to get your hands all over my exquisite f̴͚̪͐ụ̶̘̔̾c̷̘̈k̷̯̈́i̵̖̖̔̇n̶̻̘͌̀g̵̱̿ muscles," ARquius says back, voice doing the strange vocal fritz thing it always does over the swear word. Sounds like static, and the Dave bit of mew always thinks it sounds like a mix of the Windows start up noise and a dial-up modem. How he <i>does</i> that with his voice is something both bits of you are purrty happy to leave up to Sprite Weirdness™! It's not like you don't have enough weirdness of your fucking own.</p>
<p>"As though mew could blame me," you scoff and then pounce on him. Twining yourself all around him as he pawses in his work and bonking your forehead against his shoulder, and then his face. Repeatedly. Look, when it comes to not being ignored by your meowrail, you're the best there is and that's just how you fucking roll. "Come on, come on, come on, COME ON! You'll feel better! Mew haven't had a break in <i>ages</i> and I don't want to have to haul mew out to the slaughterhive yet, where all tired work hoofbeasts go once they've served their time, not that I'd let mew go easy beclaws I'll fight for you to the end, the end, my furend -" you sing, breaking into a little bit of Human Queen, because sure Dave had loved rap but both of mew knew a classic when you heard it.</p>
<p>"J̸̧̟̉̽e̵̥̯͊̉s̵̪̞̃u̷̙̎̈́s̷̺̅̊, yes, okay, you can give me a massage," ARquius laughs, and you can feel that hesitation in him, the HAL part going wait, somehow this is a trick. It's a lie that anyone really cares for <i>me</i>. Luckily, a lot of the time, the troll instincts of trust in their meowrail override any of the pawsible Strider hesitations to trust in sincere feelings. Ugh, it's ridiculous, of claws, but all mew can do is keep showing ARquius that mew can be trusted, that he really <i>is</i> safe. That mew care about him, and want him to be happy. There's a lot of self-hate that both Equius and HAL have been toting around fur various reasons from both of their lives, and it's a sour puddle in ARquius that mew are dedicated to clearing out! </p>
<p>You cheer loudly, beclaws he did say yes, and then drag him by the wrist towards the stairs out of the basement. Yes, he's a monster in the dungeon of your mewtual hive - but he'd chosen it himself, fur the reasons of sound minimisation. And being that both sides of him were supurr geniuses, he'd found a way to vent and control airflow so he wouldn't accidentally sufurcate himself down there. You drag him up to the respiteblock, beclaws while neither of you really need a bed anymeow, it was a nice place to cuddle. As Nepeta you'd always enjoy physical contact with people you loved and as Dave mew'd craved it and nefur got it. Sometimes when mew think about how hard your Dave-mew had it growing up, you get furry sad, but spending time with ARquius usually sorts you out efurntually.</p>
<p>Now mew live with your meowrail full time, and meowbe yes, there'd been a few hitches in your purrlans befur you got here. There'd been the Game. Efurryone mew had been had died, and so had efurryone that ARquius had been (although it's hard to say if HAL had died or not, but you figure it's claws enough). But now, you're a quickspeaking, smart rapping, furry well-adjusted squared sprite! You're a non-binary supurr rapstar, you're much more accepting of yourself all the way around, and mew have the <i>hottest</i> pale-boyfurend anyone could efur hope fur. You're happy now. You think ARquius is happy too - both halves of him, and all of him as he is. HAL gave Equius confidence , and you think Equius gave HAL the understanding of what it meant to be loved, just fur who mew are and nothing else.</p>
<p>Once you've fussed ARquius into lying down on the bed and taking off his tanktop, mew slick your grasping fronds up with a massage oil once you'd turned down the lights. You'd prepurred, ok! It's just pawsible, just <i>meowbe</i>, that you've had this planned for a while. Mew are sure that ARquius doesn't suspect a thing. </p>
<p>"Alexa, play Lofi Beats by Davepeta Playlist, purrlease," you say out loud, and settle yourself above ARquius so you can start working your graspers into his shoulders as your music starts to play, nice and low like you'd set it to befur you'd gone down to harass ARquius into relaxing. Boy, he really is tense! You put your whole weight into it as you dig into his shoulders, and he grunts. But in a good way! Making a few humming thoughtful noises to yourself, you set into making him really relax. If there's anything that's true, it's that both of your progenitors were surprisingly muscular and fit for their appearances. Difurent reasons as to why, of course. </p>
<p>Humming along with the tunes, you switch between your hands and your elbows as you work relaxation into your meowrail's many muscles. That course at the local community college had really made a diffurence to your technique, you're sure of that. Of claws, you'd had to deal with a little bit of weirdness when people realised that you were connected with the 'Creators', bluh. But eventually, efurrything had settled down. A lot of the people mew used to talk to, efur as Nepeta or Dave, are kinda weirded out by your spritedom, and especially how ok you are with all of it. Meowking new furends had really been the only option after that; mew've always been sociable, and you'd missed talking to lots of people. ARquius doesn't care furry much, but you hadn't expected him to. </p>
<p>Kneading your meowrail's back rhythmically, you enjoy the sight of his muscles gleaming with oil. The crimson colour of his pseudoflesh softening under your paws as you furce him to relax and let things go. You work your way from his shoulders to his waist, and then to his rump. He has a nice butt! Not that you're really thinking about doing anything with it, but you think someone furicking well should. It's a waste of a nice ass, for him to just hide away furever. But you really don't know if that's going to change anytime soon, despite all your urgings for him to get out and about in the society of Earth C. Sighing to yourself, you work your way back up once you think you've got most of the kinks out of his tail and just focus on his shoulders and neck. It's really where he carries all his stress; and he shouldn't keep so much to himself, but you kind of expect him to. Nothing diffurent there, for either half of him.</p>
<p>"I suppose you think you're very clever," ARquius says, and his usually low voice sounds almost slurred. If he'd been a full-ass troll, you would have said he'd been pacified within an inch of his fucking life. You smirk to yourself, and then school your face and your voice to propurr innocence.</p>
<p>"Why yes, I do think I am furry clefur, but I don't know what mew could <i>pawsibly</i> be refurring to at this point in time, ARquius," you sniff, as though you don't know what he's talking about. Meowbe you'd wanted to spend some time with your meowrail, and get to make him relax. That's not a crime! And mew think you'd been purrfurctly clear about your intentions too. It's not as though you'd been lying about anything.</p>
<p>One of his broad (strangely warm, like an overused game console - instead of the chill-cold one half of mew expects) hands comes up to cover yours where it is on his shoulder, and squeezes gently. You freeze, just for a mewmont. Not sure what is going on, and your pusher suddenly beating faster in your chest, picking up its syncopations.</p>
<p>"Thank you." His hand drops away, and he turns his head a little so you can work on the other side of his neck. Your hands and arms are starting to get sore, but you feel like you've only just started to make a diffurnence so you don't plan to stop yet.</p>
<p>"You're welcome, I guess!" you sniff, beclaws you don't know if you should feel offended or not. His shoulders shake a little in a laugh, and you decide to furgive him. As you work your stubs into a purrticularly stubborn knot, he lets out a low rumbling moan and you smirk. "Feel good?"</p>
<p>"F̸͕̆ư̴̢c̸͕͂ķ̶̔ï̴͚n̴̝̒g̴̵̛̗̣̏ excellent," he groans and you can feel your wings mantle with pleasure at the way he moans it out. No matter what else, you know you're going to do this again. It's just too fucking good not to. You've made one of the strongest people mew know melt underneath your fronds. You kiss the back of his neck, smelling his sweat and the sweet scent of the massage oil and you don't know that you could be any happier. This might not have been the life eifur of your halves expected, but you don't know that you would have chosen anything diffurent.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. but if you loved me (where have you been?)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>10. <b>Two (Or More) Doms One Sub | Sensory Deprivation | Gillplay </b>| Horrorterrors</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You are breathless and wanting, your eyes covered and ears stoppered and all you can feel is the air against your body. You're hanging in mid-air, your hands above your head and all your body aching with the stillness and the weight of yourself on your shoulders and nowhere else. Your earfins are spread as wide as you can make them, as though you could find another way to strain sensation to yourself when you're not in the water. No, there's no way <i>he</i> would be able to survive that and <i>she</i> finds it too funny when you're like this between the two of them.</p><p>Hungry. Desperate. Aching for attention.</p><p>Can you be blamed? You've been hung like this for what feels like hours, a good few bells of the watch. It might not have been so long; it might have been longer. You have nothing left to reckon time with, besides the rapid beating of your pusher pumping blood through your body and you'd lost your count more than a few million, a thousand, beats ago. You're as adrift as a coracle on the waters far from land, and you don't know anything except what is in the bounds of your own body.</p><p>Something touches your gills on one of your sides, a glancing touch of a finger and you thrash like a landed fish on a gaff. Terrified suddenly, unreasoning fear flooding all your senses. You might not be able to see, but you know that you're throwing bioluminescence like a spooked wiggler, you don't have any defences and yet. You'd hiss, if you could, you'd snarl and bite but your fangs only dig deeper into the rubber that fills your mouth. You swallow, and swallow again, but you can't hope to swallow all the saliva flooding your mouth. You drool, helplessly, down your chest and you know that your nook is leaking just as much as your mouth, bulge curling and exposed against your thighs. You're humiliated and disgraced and you wouldn't know if half the Empire was paraded through here to see you strung up like this, an Orphaner exposed for nothing more than a pailtoy.</p><p>You're drifting.</p><p>You lose track of time until suddenly there are hands on your hips, on your shoulders, and touching you everywhere in between. Hands just a touch warmer than you, and hands so much colder. Your back arches as two fingers dig into your nook, your every inch seems so sensitised that you <i>know</i> it's only two and no more. As the fingers dig deeper and curl, pressing against the pleasurenodes on the inside of your nook, you arch like an Executioner's bow as it draws aim and you'd scream if you had the breath for it. After having nothing, anything would have been too much and this is <i>so much more</i>.</p><p>The fingers leave your nook and you allow yourself a moment of mistaken relief, catching as deep a breath as you can manage. Your moment of peace doesn't last long at all. Cruelly careful hands catch at your gills, stroking and tickling and you would <i>scream</i> but all that escapes the gag is a desperate warble. With nothing else to concentrate on, there's nothing you can do to escape. All you can do is <i>feel</i>, and you don't know whether you're suffering torment or trapped in ecstasy. It's almost the same, split by a laserblast's whisker. </p><p>It feels like everything in your mind explodes and you feel yourself pailing, come undone by nothing more than ruthless touches to your gills. Fingers sliding underneath the operecular flaps, and plying your gill-filaments with both cruel knowledge and brash naivety. You don't know which is worse.  </p><p>You are nothing more than sensation, there's no way to hide from the hands and what they're doing to you. You don't want to think about what you must look like, a seadweller in bondage and treated like the lowest kind of landdwelling trash. But for your Empress - you'd do anything. And that includes serving as a toy to her, and to the Grand Highblood. You let them take you apart, their hands cruel and kind to you in just the ways to fuck you up in ways that you could never guard against. </p><p>While you're in the throes of orgasm, it is the purest, most beautiful kind of pleasure and you care for nothing. </p><p>But eventually you come crashing back to your body, and your eyes are still blind and your ears are still deaf. </p><p>And the hands start up their teasing again, and you groan around your gag and you know to the centre of your self that until they are pleased and satisfied - your Empress and her lackey - you will be going nowhere at all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. it feels so good inside your shadow, it's the place i want to be (you know i need to climb you like a tree)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>11. <b>Voyeurism | Selfcest | Chastity Device </b>| Bulge Around Horn</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If you didn't want to please him so fucking much, you're pretty sure you'd hate Dualscar with everyfin you got in you. But as it is, something about him, the way he talks to you, makes you <i>crave</i> his approval.</p>
<p>Maybe it says something about you that the person whose approval you want the most is yourself. Because Dualscar is you, kind of. In a way. It doesn't count but it <i>does</i> - he's you if you'd been older, been meaner, been Alternian. If you'd really been an Orphaner, if you had been trusted to do something that really <i>counted</i>. He's gruff and sour, but when he smiles (the rare times that he does), you can <i>almost</i> see where he might have been you. Just in the edges. In the cracks.</p>
<p>But it doesn't change where you are now, with a shamestick up your nook and something clamped around your bulge to keep you from spilling as you stare into a mirror and trying not to drool all over yourself like a barkbeast. You look good considering your circumstances, you guess. You look shameless, you look like someone who knows what they're doing. At least you think you do. You're naked and on your knees, sitting on the shamestick he'd fastened to the floor and feeling it prod all the way to the end of your nook as you lock oculars with your older double in the mirror.</p>
<p>He's standing behind you, all clean, all dressed. Like what you're going through doesn't affect him at all, as though he hadn't ordered you to slut yourself out like a two boondollar whore. Just for him and his eyes. As though you couldn't see the wiggly he was packing in those tight uniform pants, as though his hand isn't gripping so tight in your hair it hurts. Like he needs to make you hold your head up and look at yourself - you look <i>good</i>. </p>
<p>"F-fuck," you choke out, both of your pairs of eyes trained on yourself in the mirror. Dualscar's lip twitches in a sneer, and his scars almost seem to writhe. Against what you'd gotten, his are so much worse. You got a neat little pair of lightning strikes over your eyebrow, and he got a jagged pair of scars clawing up half his face. Is it because you'd almost accidentally fallen into yours, and he'd gotten his <i>doing</i> something worthwhile? You don't know, really, what it was like on Alternia but it seems to  have meant at least that Dualscar had had a life worth living.</p>
<p>Instead of what you got. Fucking around and fucking up until Meenah wiped you all out. You'd been wigglers - Dualscar was grown, and adult, mature in a way you'd never reach. You were <i>stuck</i> in this barely post-adolescent body forever. You were dead, and there was no more maturing to do for you. You've grown as much as you could hope for, and everything that should have happened if you'd been alive for longer, if the Game hadn't happened? Well, you just get to <i>look</i>, and that's all.</p>
<p>"Look at you, <i>Cronus</i>," he hisses in your earfin like he hates you, leaning down over you like the judgement of some terrible god. Not like you believe in that shit, but if you had - that's what you would have said he was like. Something awesome, as in worthy of awe, and something that had a right to talk to you like that. You moan, and squirm against the shamestick doing its slow revolutions inside your nook. What the fuck else are you expected to do? He's the one who's got you out here like this, like some kinda two bit floozy. If he wants to see you act the whore, then fine. You'll do it - but you wish he wouldn't act like he was disappointed in you at the same time.</p>
<p>"Look at <i>you</i>, asshole," you sneer back and then wail as his weight comes down on your shoulders like a dirge, forcing you further onto the toy in your nook. Your eyes spurt tears, mostly out of reaction and nothing more. "<i>FUCK</i>," you howl, and you would have sank your fangs into his wrist if you'd had the chance. Just to get a reaction out of him, and nothing more than that. "Dualscar - you fucking - <i>AH</i> -"</p>
<p>You want to spill and you <i>can't</i>, thanks to the pinching thing he'd put around the base of your bulge. You're choked off, teetering on the brink and never quite able to get there. You hawk and spit a gob onto the ground, clearing your maw of that choking feeling and see Dualscar sneer at your lack of couth. Well. Fuck him (oh Danny Zuko, you'd like to fuck <i>him</i>, you'd like to be the one on top for once). </p>
<p>"Suck my bulge," you tell your older (better) self, and something you don't want to acknowledge wallows in the look he gives you. Disappointed. Like everyone else in your entire fucking life. You want him to be happy, pleased with you but at the same time - you can't help needling him. Making sure he realises just how fucked you are (how fucked he is), and how far you are beyond anything like redemption.</p>
<p>"If you're a <i>good boy</i>, we can possibly see about you sucking mine, Cronus," he snarls like the doom of some distant apocalypse and he grabs one of your earfins and <i>twists</i>, and you scream. Mouth wide, all noise. No matter how much you tease him, how much you goad him, he's constant and steady in his own way - and slowly you're starting to count on that.</p>
<p>It doesn't change the fact that there's a growing puddle of violet spreading between your knees, around the base of the toy he's stuffed in your nook. But no matter what - at least you feel like Dualscar's invested. In you. In this. You feel like he <i>cares</i>, somehow.</p>
<p>It's really something different to what you've felt before.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. i want a girl with uninterrupted prosperity (who uses a machete, to cut through red tape)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>12. Medical Kink | Buckets | <b>Impact Play</b> | Knotting</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"So what do you think that makes now, Por, babe?" you say cheerfully, smoothing your hand over the well-spanked ass of your casual kismesis. Porrim doesn't say anything, but you can almost feel her glare lasering through the floor. She's laid out over your knees while you're sitting on your couch, her nice thicc ass is bruised as hell and you don't feel one single freaking bit guilty. Girls who don't want to get their asses beat, shouldn't be so <i>easy</i> to beat in a dang game of Troll Mario Kart, yo.</p><p>You gotta say, it feels like she did it on purpose. But if Porrim wants to get spanked, you don't have any objection! No fucking way, it's something outta sight to have her spread over your lap like this. Breath hitching just a bit. It's a fallacy, leftover remnants of a life you've all left behind in one big Meenah-sponsored explosion. But being dead doesn't mean you can't have some fun.</p><p>"Damn, well if you're don't know how many times I beat your ass, guess I'll just have to keep going," you say with pleasure, and lift your hand to smack her hiney hard a few more times. Every time you do, Porrim squirms and her breath hitches. You can feel her bulge squirming against your thigh, and you know the inside of her thighs are wet with genemat. The only green that matters to you.</p><p>"Shit yeah, gurl, I'm gonna make sure you ain't gonna want to sit down for a <i>sweep</i>, you gonna be so fucking sore," you coo, trill rasping through your chirpbox. Hey, it ain't like Porrim the only one who's affected here! It's something freaking <i>else</i> to be able to make calm, suave Porrim Maryam break down, make her show something over something that she <i>likes</i>, rather than just getting snippy at people for being assholes. Not that you don't like the heck outta that too, holla! Strong grrrls forever, yeah! "And once I finished with that - I'm gonna plow your sweet ass nook, make you <i>scream</i>."</p><p>"That sounds - <i>ah</i> - fairly agreeable," Porrim manages to gasp out, and you mustn't be hitting her hard enough if she can still speak like that. You want to see her break down and cry. Both of you hate little bits of each other, but as far as pitch goes, it's fairly friendly. Doesn't mean that you <i>don't</i> want to best her though, and you can almost feel how close you are to making her break. "Nngh, <i>Latula</i>-"</p><p>That's more like it. You grin fiercely to yourself, and bring your hand down hard against her nook and the back of her thighs. You know you hit her nook, because there's a distinctly wet sound to your slap and moisture on the palm of your hands. Sucks to be her for opening her legs, el oh el. Porrim almost rockets out of your lap, but you use your other hand to grab her long hair and pull her back.</p><p>"SHIT!"</p><p>"Language, Porpor," you scold, and bring your hand down hard again, feeling your own bulge squirm restively against the confines of your underwear. You think she's just about done to a turn, but you wanna make sure that her buns are proper toasty before you stop. You hate leaving a level half-finished, and that includes fucking over your kismesis, before you get to fucking her.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. i guess you're just what i needed (i needed someone to please)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Double Stuffed </b>| Psionics | <b>Overstimulation | Praise Kink</b></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gasping, you stare up at the ceiling and hold onto your elbows with your hands, feeling your folded arms rest against the small of your back as you keep yourself restrained with a pure effort of will. There are few things that can restrain you, and besides...the Grand Highblood seems to find it much more amusing when he tells you how to restrain yourself, and to hold still, and then to try and make you fail to follow his orders. But when he can't, when you persevere and <i>suffer</i>, and resist your weaknesses, he's so <i>proud</i>, you know he is. Even if he doesn't really say.</p><p>If he wasn't proud of you, he wouldn't have brought you <i>here</i>. You wouldn't be where you are right now, pinned between the two most powerful trolls of the Empire. Not just the Grand Highblood but also - <i>Her Imperious Condescension</i>. When you'd arrived, a careful and respectful distance behind your superior, she'd called you forward to look you over and pinched your cheek; called you a cute lil glubber and then - well. You'd wound up here. Like this.</p><p>You are not in any <i>way</i> objecting, if you may be allowed to clarify your feelings about the situation.</p><p>"Wharu do you find all these sweet lil things, Kurlz, it's like you got a stable of the cuddlefish," the Empress hums, and you don't know where to look or what to do as her Imperial fingers press and spread inside your nook while the Grand Highblood holds your thighs open and wide, you sitting on his lap on the platform. You can feel his bulge tracing slick slime along the inside of your legs as you lean against him for support and you just pant, stifling a moan because she's not addressing you. "Nasty old caverobber, you."</p><p>"You're even more motherfucking <i>ancient</i> than me, bitch, so let's not go starting that caverobber shit less'n you feeling up to a motherfucking schoolfeeding," the immense clown behind you rumbles, and you can feel it all the way through your body from the way you're leaning against his chest. With a gasp, you grip your arms tighter, keeping them folded behind your back and out of the way. They're so cold, cold...you shiver all over as the Empress pulls her fingers out of your nook with a sucking sound, and then part your lips to let her push them into your mouth.</p><p>She laughs at him, and you moan a warbling trill around her fingers as she fucks your mouth and you feel the Grand Highblood's bulge starting to press into your nook. Slow, inexorable - and so filling. </p><p>"He's so <i>wet</i>, wet as high tide, what a needy little guppy, so pretty," she coos, and you gag a little as her claws brush the back of your throat. Thankfully you've had so much more practice at swallowing large things whole than when you'd Ascended, or you might have had a chance of biting her. Instead, you press your tongue against her digits, licking your own slurry off them as you feel more than hear the Grand Highblood groan with pleasure as his bulge slides deeper until it is all the way inside, pressing almost uncomfortably against the entrance to your genebladder. You concentrate on your breathing, on relaxing. If your bulge hadn't already been all the way out, he would have pushed it out, the coils of noble bulge pressed up inside your nook leaving no room for anything else - you already know that from experience. </p><p>The Empress presses closer and you can feel her bulge sliding against where the Grand Highblood has already filled you with enough to make you burst. Unable to help yourself, you whine around her fingers anxiously. Surely she can't - it won't work - they won't both <i>fit</i> - it would be ludicrous to even attempt. She shooshes you, two fingers pressing down on your tongue and thumb rubbing against your cheek as you feel the tip press its way inside you. </p><p>"Breathe deep, little motherfucker," the Grand Highblood advises in your auricular clot and you take a breath, feeling overwhelmed by how much is going on. And how much is going <i>inside</i>  you. You can't catch your breath, swallowing noisily around her fingers as you pant and her eyes - they pull you in. Deep and bright tyrian fuchsia, the diamonds ornamenting the upswept corners of her personal visioncorrectors twinkling like stars. You couldn't look away if you tried, so you don't. Her gaze is mesmerising, and reminds you why you're doing this. Your pleasure isn't important here - although, even though overwhelming, painful, it still feels good - you don't know when you got this <i>wanton</i>. The terrible influence of clowns, you suppose. You don't know what else to put it down to, but thinking is getting harder, you're grasping after threads that don't want to be caught and you sob brokenly as she pushes in more and more of her bulge. Everything inside your nook is on fire, and you can't stop shaking.</p><p>You're going to have bruises from how hard you're gripping your arms after this, you know it. Thick bands of blue shade underneath your grey, although no one will see them under your uniform. But you'll know - oh, you'll <i>know</i> - and so will <i>he</i> - and <i>she</i> - you'll all know why you wince, and why you'd shy from any companionable slap from one of the subjuggulators like a flybit hoofbeast.</p><p>"That's it, I knew you could do this ship, knew you could take it," the Empress croons and leans over your shoulder to kiss the other troll already sheathdeep in your nook. You gulp and try to concentrate on relaxing, on <i>accepting</i>. You don't know if your cheeks are wet with tears or sweat, but it doesn't matter. She's not stopping. By the time her bulge (bulge<i>s</i>, you think) are fully inside you, twisted around the Grand Highblood's, you don't have the words to say anything, even once she takes her fingers out of your mouth.</p><p>You just whimper, and she grins. Mouth full of teeth, and something out of a daymare before she thrusts and your whole thinkpan whites out; you think you scream, but you're not sure.</p><p>"Yeah, that's the stuff," she says with satisfaction, and you hear a deep laugh come from behind you and - you have to be honest, you don't really remember much after that. But you wake up later with a sore nook in a puddle of slurry, stomach bloated from an overfull genematerial-retention sack. You're not alone when you wake up - the Empress is gone, but the Grand Highblood is running his fingers through the sweat-heavy locks of your hair. You make a weak chirp, about all the sound you can manage. He looks down at you, away from the book he was reading where he was sitting up next to you, face old and craggy and solemn as his oculars wander over your filthy, lewd body, and you just breathe for a moment in the force of his gaze. Then he blinks, and his mouth quirks up a little in a sly smile, paint creasing and splintering at the impact of his grin.</p><p>"You did good, Zahhak," he says, and if he's saying that - then you really did. You chirr slowly, and close your eyes again, shutting out the expanse of fuchsia and gold that hurts your eyes without your shades. You wonder dimly when you'll be going back to the <i>Righteous Japery</i>, but you find you don't care very much. Not so long as the subjuggulator you've given your loyalty to continues to stroke your hair this way. "Sleep for a bit; ain't no one calling on our time right now. I'll see you to rights before we head off."</p><p>You do just what you're told, leaving the consequences of delayed action to your superior and slipping gladly back into your doze.  You did <i>well</i>, he's <i>pleased</i> with you and what you've done. This might not have been what you'd thought your service to the Empire would consist of, but as long as the Grand Highblood is satisfied, you don't think you mind.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. just remember that i've been true to nobody else but you (so just be true to me)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Helmsplay/Helming | First Time | <b>Clothed/Partially Clothed Sex | Frottage</b></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The one thing you try to keep in mind about Slick, is that he has no fucking patience. </p><p>It's no god damn surprise to you then, when about half a turn of the watchpiece into your stakeout on this warehouse, that he starts to fidget. Then mutter under his breath, hand twitching to the hilts of knives you can't see but you know are there. And finally, drag you by a fierce grip on your wrist around the corner of the alley so you can't see shit, but making it harder for anyone to see the pair of ya as well. A pretence at some kinda fucking privacy in this deserted industrial district.</p><p>This ain't any kinda professional, is all you got to say to him but you're cut off by a hard kiss as he yanks on your tie to bring your mouth down to his level. A firm grip against the front of your pants is mussing up your creases, but you hiss against his tongue as he plunges it into your mouth as he grips you just right. Heel of his palm rubbing hard against your genital plates, until you feel your body start to respond, spike starting to unsheathe. </p><p>Fuck you, Droog, he retorts like it makes him sound smart and then the zipper on your pants pulls apart with a low rasp under his fingers, before he pushes his hand inside to juggle roughly inside your jockeys. Feels like he's testing out the squeeze on a pair of ripe tomaters, the uncouth bastard. You grumble against his mouth, and bite his lip but you're the one that comes away bleeding the worst when he bites you back. You snarl and mutter in discontent, but you give way before him like you always do.</p><p>You got no fuckin' excuse for why you're plastered up against this dirty wall, ruining your good suit as Slick spits in his hand and then pulls out his own shaft to wraps his finger around the two of them. Jerking you both off, while he keeps making you break your back to lean down and kiss him. What a god damn asshole, huh. You don't know why you put up with him; but if you didn't, what the fuck else would you do. Who would you even fucking be. There's something about being around Slick that feels deep and satisfying, like puzzle pieces slotting into place. You don't think he feels the same thing for you as you feel to him, and it don't matter if he does. What matters, is how you feel about it. Fuck whatever he fucking feels. You don't give a shit.</p><p>I can hear you <i>thinking</i>, you limp-wristed piece of shit is the hissed exhale of an accusation against your mouth as Slick tightens his grip and strips you both faster. Working his hand over your paired together shafts like he's got a personal grudge against the fact that neither of you have cum yet. You just hum, noncommittal and nonverbal, before kissing him again to swallow what other words he might have lurking in his rude maw.</p><p>The two of you are acting like a coupla lovesick youths with no sense of decorum, humping and grinding against each other right out in the open. But damn, it sure does feel <i>fine</i>, no matter how against your dignity the whole fucking affair is. God, you hate Slick. How he always brings you to this, makes you feel this way. Act like a floozy with round heels, no better than she oughter fucking be. Worse than that, even. Like you some kinda bangtail, always up for a quick nasty fuck. But he does this shit to you, where you could say no and he'd listen to you, sure - <i>but you just don't fucking want to</i>. Against all your better judgement and Lord help you, but you do know better.</p><p>Sometimes you think you're the only member of the whole damn Crew who has even one braincell bouncing around in your skull - and other times you <i>know</i> for a god damn certainty that that is a <i>stone cold fact</i>, and no fucking fooling around. There's no one in the Crew who ever manages to think a mort worth a pinch of birdshit besides you and that's the truth.</p><p>But it doesn't change the fact that Slick's hands are grabbing you around the ass and pulling you up against him as you both fool around like you don't have no place to hang your fucking hats and you don't have no god damn beds waiting for you. Both your dicks sliding up against each other, just enough slick of spit and pregenemat that you're not both dry enough for your shafts to work like the two proverbial sticks of a resourceful Boy Scout. It's almost painful, it's uncomfortable, and you are so hot you're just about ready to cum - when he bites you hard on the neck and you shout - surprising yourself - and cum all over the front of his pants and his dick with a hard jerk of your hips - surprising you both, by the slack-jawed look on Slick's face when you do.</p><p>You can't help yourself; you laugh out loud.</p><p>He sneers and then grabs your spike to make you yelp, adding in a twist of his hand that almost makes you fucking tear up. He doesn't care that he's got cum all over his cuff - of course he fucking doesn't. Selfish bastard slides out of the corner of his mouth in an accusatory sneer, and he buries his head against the front of your shirt as he starts to thrust against you roughly. You find a way to pat him on the back, then just lean back against the wall and let him go.</p><p>After a moment as he keeps rubbing himself up urgently against your stomach and thighs, hard throbbing spike finding a groove to fuck like he could fuck himself all the way into your carcass, you shuffle your fingers through your jacket to find your cigarettes and a pack of matches. Light yourself a smoke, and exhale over the top of his head as Slick curses you out in a low voice, from you to the very first egg your putative ancestors had hatched from, and a listing of all their sins in between the annals of ancient history to now, where you are standing in front of him.</p><p>Finally, he shudders and cums all over your stomach, rubbing up under your shirt and leaving you sticky. You grimace with a sense of exquisite disgust, and then hand him his own lit cigarette. This was so fuckin' unprofessional. You just don't have the god damn words to express all the feelings you got about it.</p><p>You got somethin' to say, Slick says in a nasty way, and some manages to exhale smoke straight into your fucking face, despite the difference in your heights and the fact that you'd swear he wasn't looking up. Asshole?</p><p>No, boss. You exhale yourself, above his head into the air where he can't hope to reach without a step stool. In your own way, you're just as petty as he is. Hope that those galoots ain't slipped their way inside without us noticing, though. Since you had to...have a recreational break, you make a point of saying. He sniffs at you, but doesn't say anything to that, just chews on his smoke like it's wronged him somehow.</p><p>You both hear the sound of a rollerdoor moving with its characteristic crashing rattle at the same time, and somehow you both zip your pants in record time. Cursing under your breath at the feel of cum against your stomach and inside your pants, soaking your shirt, you pull a card from the inside breast-pocket of your jacket and feel your cue stick expand against your palm as you grip your weapon. Slick's already got his knives out, and all you can say is, you're glad that he actually managed to close the barn door before the two of you move.</p><p>Despite what you've just been doing, you're pretty sure that you both look terrifying enough and like any rumpling to your clothes is due to the inherent violence in your characters. As opposed to the fact that you'd both been shagging in a fucking alleyway like a hoor and her john. </p><p>When the pair of you burst onto the scene, ready to take umbrage with the mooks who were cutting into one of your smuggling operations, all you can see on their faces is fear. And that's just a cherry on the top of your fucking satisfaction sundae. And even as you vow to yourself that what just happened, is <i>never</i> gonna happen again - watching as Slick slices his way into the opposition like a dervish, you know you're telling yourself a god damn lie.</p><p>And you know you don't really care.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. see that's the funny thing about eating ass (once you start you can't stop)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>15. Godtier Resurrection Death Play | <b>Rimming</b> | Fucking Machines | Punishment/Discipline</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Looking down at your motherfucking sweet kittybitch, you smile to yourself and enjoy the sight laid out before you like a luscious meal for the starving. And you do intend to <i>eat</i> up. Meulin is cooing to herself and kneading on the blanket that between the both of you, you'd made a fucking show of spreading out. Some kinda flushdate shit, something soft and tugging at the pumperstrings. There are many things Meulin is to you, and you appreciate every fucking one of them.</p>
<p>But most of all, you appreciate her god damn plump and righteous ass. It's a sight to make the prophets make mouth on words of the Messiahs, something to make a Bard weep over and declaim. And it's yours, she's yours. </p>
<p>"Looking good, sweetness," you hum, and knead at her ass, pulling apart her fat cheeks with your graspers to reveal everything there is to see. Both the sweetly leaking crevice of her nook, and the pucker of her 'chute. You lick your lips as Meulin moans, and you ain't the kind of troll that just sits the fuck back. Not the type of ninja to just let shit pass him by, no way. You're motherfucking fronds on, you're getting into this shit, you're making it happen. </p>
<p>Leaning in, you start with the delicacy that is her nook as she croons and wiggles herself back onto your tongue. Humming, you close your eyes and know that your paint is smearing all to shit over your face and her thighs. But what use is anything, if you can't fuck shit up on the skin of your ninjalette as you eat her out? And this is a work you don't want to rush, a sacred monument of lust that you weave with your tongue as she mewls and moans, and works all the way up to screaming.</p>
<p>Not like you want to boast, but there ain't no tongue better at licking neden than yours and your matesprit bitch has always been real motherfucking happy with how you do it. You bury your face between her thighs and Meulin fucking wails for you, fucking her hips back onto your face as you eat her all the way the fuck out like the juicy pie she is. Reaching around in front, you find her agile and wigglesome bulge and let it curl around your frondstubs. Working your grasper over her, you pull back and bite a mark deep into her thigh and her voice soars like a lark on a summer's day, wandering and circling high and then even motherfucking higher.</p>
<p>You love listening to her, begging for you, pleading you for more. As you keep squeezing at her bulge, you move on from her nook to your final destination, that little winking pucker of her wastechute. There are many a troll that would flinch from this, that would pull away. But every part of your flushfling is worthy before your sightnuggets. Each and every motherfucking part, and you aim to get your maw over every part of her - just like you have many another time before. </p>
<p>Your tongue licks over the rim of her, circling as she croons low and deep like a roarbeast. Something lurking, something menacing before you give in to your urgings and push your tongue up her 'chute. Meulin squeals, her sphincter clutching at your tongue as you lap inside. Working spit into her and wiggling your lingualslab around, tasting the worst and dirtiest of her. It's a different taste to her nook; less salt, more sour. But it ain't something you'd pull away from. All these assholes out here, they be motherfucking pussies who won't front up to doing everything to please - but you do, and you motherfucking will.</p>
<p>"Kurloz, KurLOZ, KURLOZ," she sings out, the sweetest motherfucking sound you've ever heard. Fat cheeks jiggling, her skirt rucked up around her waist as you bury your face in the most righteous, most beauteous ass you ever come across and make her scream like she's dying from how much pleasure you're bringing to her. </p>
<p>If you'd had a frond free, you'd stroke yourself off but this is all for your queen right now. Meulin fucking Leijon, the crown of your flushpusher. Besides, this ain't the end of this. You know you'll get yours, when you want it. But now, the most important thing for you is to see her spill, all the way across this fucking groundcover with your tongue up her ass and there ain't nothing you wouldn't do to make it happen.</p>
<p>After all, you're in love. This ain't even close to the greatest sacrifice you'd make for her - or near what you know you'll ask of her. But for now, all there is, is now. And this motherfucking moment - and why would you want to think of more? Her 'chute is squeezing around your tongue, as you jerk her off and you feel the press of your own bulge against the front of your pants, and soon you know just what's going to replace your motherfucking tongue - and the serenades that Meulin will make will be loud and long and dedicated to your motherfucking bulge.</p>
<p>Everything is just as it should be. And you know this will end, this peaceful time - but not know. And not yet.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. i'm a loser, baby (so why don't you kill me)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>16. <b>Hair Pulling | Blood Play</b> | Wax | Faygo</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Your lip is bleeding like a ripe Georgia peach, and you grin at this clownish motherfucker with all the sass and inner asshole you can muster. And you gotta say, it's really a hell of a lot of that shit that you can bring to the table. This motherfucking giant of an alien juggalo (you've learned that most call him the Grand Highblood, how fucking pretentious can you get) snarls in your face like you're meant to be afraid of him. Like the two of you ain't already real fucking dead, as though you hadn't already had a sword shoved right through all your vitals until you were as pinned as a god damn butterfly on a board. </p>
<p>There's nothing worse he can do to you, and it's like he ain't even learned that yet. He postures and snarls like you should be afraid, and you just spit blood and get right back up in his face to fight him some more. He loves it, or he would have left already. He would have left you the fuck alone if he wasn't into this shit, but you think he likes the attention. It's like being back in elementary school, pulling pigtails and pretending like y'all crush had god damn cooties. </p>
<p>This is a bubble that you don't recognise, but you don't think he does either. You've been playing cat and mouse for hours, both of you spring an ambush on the other, and then one on the other one, et fucking cetera but you have to admit that at the end he'd got you good. A spray of faygo from a shaken up bottle at the right time and you'd gone down blinded and clutching at your eyes like some kinda god damn noob, cursing him and all his works to kingdom fucking come. </p>
<p>If you'd both still been alive, you might have been afraid but there's a big rush of testosterone that comes with being dead. There's nothing left that you've found that can hurt you. Not in a way that really matters. </p>
<p>That's why you're fucking around with King Shit Juggalo here. The sex is amazing, and you don't have to worry about dying. Neither does he.</p>
<p>Right now you're pinned against the memory of an anonymous building in some kind of downtown, and two of your katanas are buried inside his body from where you'd run him through. He's bleeding, but it's more decorative than any thing else considering the lack of aliveness you both have going - but honestly you think, if you'd both been alive, he would have just shrugged that shit off anyway and you're a man of discerning taste because it just gets you harder. You grab at his mane of hair, pulling hard as you writhe, back pinned against stone and the growing mound of your erection bumping against that god damn fucking codpiece. You'd say you can't believe you're fucking someone with such bad fashion sense, but you're pretty sure you've fucked worse. In clubs, and whatever. And not one of those bears or twinks had a god damn tentacle to drive you to orgasm with.</p>
<p>"Get your fucking pants off," you sneer against his throat, and reach up to find one of your katana hilts where it's lodged in his shoulder and <i>twist</i>, just so. Enough to make him howl, which makes your throbbing hot beef thermometer somehow find another Mohs spectrum of hardness inside your jeans. Digging the heel of one of your Vans into his thigh, you yank him down enough so you can kiss him.</p>
<p>This ain't no romcom kiss, no motherfucking smooch here. This is wet and nasty, it's all tongue and spit and teeth, and he's bigger than you. Asswipe. Fuck, you hate the fact that he is, and it ain't something you're used to. At six foot something of Texan beef, you're used to being the tallest man in the room but that ain't nothing to a species that's used to pushing nine foot as a matter of course. He moves on to savage your neck as you reach down to unzip your pants, trying to drag them down just enough for what's going on. You don't get a chance to finish, because he just grabs your jeans by the waist on either side and pulls, ripping them in half right along the crotch.</p>
<p>In return for him ruining your pants, you slap the hilt of the sword you'd driven through his shoulder and feel the reverb that means it's stuck on bone somewhere in there. He howls, and you kick viciously at his belt to try and dislodge that fucking god awful codpiece. Him ruining your clothes means nothing, when you just think up some new ones and remember them back onto your body, but it's the fucking dis implicit in his actions that gets stuck in your throat.</p>
<p>"Eager for a ninja to make of you his <i>bitch</i>, are you, <i>Strider?</i>" the gigantic asshole in front of you purrs, and sinks his teeth into your shoulder. Something around his waist clanks as you grit your teeth, and when he kisses you this time it's as copper as new pennies. You've never minded the taste of your own blood, you're pretty well-acquantited - it just doesn't usually get propelled down your throat by a twelve-inch tongue (no, you don't know the measurement for sure, but it's definitely as long as some dicks you've sucked, that's close enough for you). By the time he pulls away, you're ready for him and slam your head forward to bust open <i>his</i> lip this time.</p>
<p>"Fuck you," is all you spit out as he sneers down at you, purple and red mixing in his fangs and down his chin. Well, besides the actual blood and deep-throated loogie you spit on his cheek to make your opinion known on <i>that</i> shit. You've got a prostate. You know how good it feels to get pounded. Funny to find out that aliens had some kinda weird hang-up about who was bottoming too. "Stick it in before I die again - this time of boredom, Bobo."</p>
<p>"That ain't my motherfucking <i>name</i>, and you know it," he rumbles out but he doesn't keep you waiting any longer. That thick purple fuckslime-slick tentacle wedges its way between your thighs and then up your ass with no more warning than that. And once the tip's in, the rest follows at a quick pace. You groan with satisfaction, and then reach up to wind your fingers through his hair and yank. He moans, and shoves his hips forward harder as you dig your heels in at his waist to keep your balance as you're split open on his monstrous sized bulge, cool and thick, little ribbed at the bottom. The best quality though? Its wiggles. Always seems to manage to stroke you from the inside <i>just</i> right.</p>
<p>"Less bitching, more fucking," you order, and for once he does what you fucking tell him to do. With your fingers knotted in his hair, you kiss him and smear alien and human blood across both your faces, along with a healthy dose of cloying greasepaint. You might have thought that dying was the end of everything, but apparently you're too swag to pop out of existence like that. And you know, any one of these days you'll get around to looking up Dave and his little friends, sort all that shit out - but you haven't had a holiday since you picked that kid out of the meteor crash site, so you're going to enjoy being a corpse for a while longer.</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. it's beautiful people like you who sucked all the life right out of my heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>17. <b>Intercrural Sex | Beforus</b> | Pampering | In Space</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If you were a better troll, you wouldn't be doing this. But you're just enough of an unprincipled asshole to do it, and have just enough ethics lingering in your thinkpan that you feel bad about it. You kinda wish you were all one way or another. One way, you wouldn't be doing this at all, because it's an absolute <i>festering wastechute sore</i> kind of act to do this with an impressionable young adult with a serious case of hero worship (or whatever the fuck is going on here). The other, you'd actually be enjoying yourself with no lingering doubts and innate soul-deep revulsion at how much you're led around by your bulge.</p><p>If you were stupid enough to ask Cronus what he thought about it, you're pretty sure the arrogant little shithead would tell you not to think so much. Not thinking is how you'd wound up in this position, but you've still got enough decency in you that you haven't just stuck your bulge in him. Despite all his begging for you to do so, the reckless little bulgeblister. You know how big you are, and seadwellers of his age are narrow through the hips. They don't really get to their true adult size for a few more sweeps. Maybe he's had his ninth sweep, but he's still really just a <i>kid</i>.</p><p>You are a degenerate fucking caverobber, and that's a god damn fact. </p><p>Burying your face against Cronus' neck as he squirms back against you, you squeeze his bulge gently and run it through your fingers, playing with the frill on the underside. That gets you a series of gasped trills, and his thighs squeeze down tighter around your bulge as his hips buck into your hand. You croon into his earfin, rumbling low and deep in your chest. He's so fucking wet between his legs, it lets your bulge slide and twist with ease. Every time your bulge tries to slide up into his nook though, you edge it away despite all his begging to just put it the fuck in already, Vwantas, <i>please!</i>. Little shit. He doesn't know what's good for him.</p><p>He really fucking doesn't, because if he did he wouldn't be here. He'd be out there putting the moves on some bright young thing his own age, doing what he's meant to be doing. Working out his pailing instincts with his fucking peers, instead of you. A scarred up, worn out hulk of a threshcutioner. He twists in your arms like he can hear what you're thinking and kisses you fiercely, all that preened up hair loose and falling around his face in a way that makes him look even younger, but fuck. It's fucking adorable.</p><p>"Karkat, come on, come <i>on</i>," he chirps breathily, sleek body pressed up against you and you bite him on the shoulder to stop him from talking and just make him sing instead. It's as captivating to hear him like this as it is when he's noodling over his sixstring, working out little snippets of music. And you don't' know for sure, but you're going to say that you have a fucking heavy suspicion that you're the only one who's heard him like this.</p><p>"We're getting there, you impatient little fuck," you grunt against his neck and squeeze the base of his bulge to push back his orgasm and make him chirr sharply in frustration. Whining and pleading with you as you fuck his thighs and play with his bulge, he makes an even sweeter sound when you press a finger into his sopping wet nook. Closing your eyes, you lick the bitemarks you've left on his shoulder and curl your finger inside his nook, rubbing along the receptors at the top to make him scream.</p><p>You'd said this was a one time thing. You'd said it to him, and you'd said it to yourself. But listening to him, feeling him in your arms - you don't think you can let it just be a one time pail thing, because he's so vulnerable and pitiful, it tugs at your rusty pusherstrings. When Eridan finds out about this, he's going to <i>kill</i> you. But you don't think you can stop, even if you'd wanted to - and you're finding out more and more, just how much you don't want this to be the only time you have Cronus like this. You are fucking <i>awful</i>.</p><p>But slowly, you're starting to care about that less and less, if it means you keep seeing Cronus like this. Absolutely wrecked and begging for you.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. lEEROY jENKINS</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>18. Mirrors | Xenophilia | <b>Flarping</b> | Choking</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Looks like Vriska and Eridan are both so distracted by each other that we're not getting back to playing anytime soon," Aradia announces, hand shading her eyes from the moonlight as she surveys the FLARP field. This was meant to be the culmination of a series of battles, with intense roleplay and not just fatalities but here was Vriska and Eridan derailing everything <i>again</i>. You look up as Aradia crouches next to you behind the rock balustrade you both were hiding behind. This had been <i>meant</i> to be a battle, after all, but Vriska can't manage not to goad Eridan, even when <i>they're on the same team</i>. Terezi had been the smart one, not even coming tonight. "Don't tell me you're surprised, Tavros!"</p><p>"...no, uh, of course I'm not <i>surprised</i>," you murmur as she sweeps her Musketeer's Chapeau off her head and puts it to one side carefully so that the feather doesn't get damaged. She must have replaced that plume a hundred times by now, but you like that she still tries to keep it intact between plays. So far it's survived this game, and so has your Boy Skylark costume. Sometimes you think Vriska deliberately targets your shorts (actually you're pretty sure she does, you just don't know <i>why</i> besides the fact that she's a giant bluh bluh <i>bitch</i>. You wish she'd stop, not everyone has coolblood money to replace their FLARP gear). "Just annoyed, you know. They do this <i>every</i> time. It uh, really wrecks the flow of the game."</p><p>"Well, it's hard to repress young hate!" Aradia says with her usual irrepressible grin and then puts her hand on your thigh, just below the hemline of your shorts. She flashes another grin at you, and shrugs her shoulders. "So...while they're busy, you wanna do some stuff? They're still shouting at each other, they haven't even gotten to the hatesnogging yet. We've got <i>ages</i>."</p><p>You can feel your whole face go hot. You don't know what to call this exactly, what you and Aradia do. But it's uh, it's really...really nice. You don't want to pin it down to a quadrant, you're not stupid enough to think that she wants to make something <i>real</i> by giving this a name but it's a bit more than hatefriends would usually do for each other.</p><p>"Yeah, I guess that'd uh, be a way to pass the time while they get their shit sorted," you say, as casually as you know how and then lean in to meet Aradia as she leans towards you. Your mouths meet softly, and you kiss her, and it's just as surprising and amazing as it was the first time. Bringing your hand up, you cup her face as she somehow manages to slide her way over to straddle you, tipping your head back just enough to keep the kiss going. Just kissing is more than enough for you, but after a moment Aradia leans back to unzip her pants and peel them down. </p><p>Your shorts are less of an encumbrance than her skin-hugging leather, which is why you're the one who winds up with your pants hanging off one ankle and she doesn't. Thanks to the fact that neither of you are as hung up on posturing as either Eridan or Vriska (who seem like they could make it professional), you're shoving your hand in your mouth to hide your chirping as Aradia's bulge eases its way into your nook. It feels so - it's so <i>good</i>. Warm, and gentle and just - it's Aradia. How could it ever feel anything other than good?</p><p>"Mmm, fuck," Aradia moans like she agrees with you and you find a way to steady yourself against the rocks as Aradia's bulge twists inside you. She kisses you on the cheek, both her hands holding onto your thighs and making sure they're up and apart as she pushes as far inside your nook as she can manage. It's cramped and kind of painful, but at the same time - oh god, Aradia's bulge is in your <i>nook</i>. You don't always go this far, but like she said - you've got time.</p><p>Eridan and Vriska's egos won't be contained by just one monologue. They've probably both got multiple ones planned. Which is soooo stupid because this time around, <i>they were meant to be on the same FUCKING team!</i> You can't stand this shit, it ruins the fun of the game. The pure nature of it.</p><p>"Hey, hey you," Aradia croons, pulling your face back to look you in the eyes. Her horns show a gleam of pink and green on the inner curves from the moons above, her hair wild from being constrained underneath her Chapeau. Wild curls spilling out in a tangle over her shoulders and you tilt your head up and let her kiss you again, soft and warm and a lot like coming hive. Aradia is...you don't have the words for what Aradia is. The two of you are panting, breathing hard as your bodies find a way to make being bored a whole different kind of thing. </p><p>It's just practice, really. Neither of you will be ready for bucket collection for a few more sweeps. But it sure feels <i>really</i> good. </p><p>Losing yourself in the kiss and the feel of her bulge in your nook, you pail almost without really realising it. It's a long slow ride up to the peak, and you hadn't known you were there until you were falling over. Aradia makes a hoarse sound as your nook tightens around her bulge, and her claws dig into you as she buries her face against your shoulder. You hold her, stroking her back as she quivers her way through her own climax. </p><p>It's a good thing that neither of you are up to spilling a bucket's worth of genematerial for the drones, because otherwise this would be a lot more messy than it is. You have a tendency to come over prepared as it is, so you hand Aradia a cleanserwipe and both of you clean off your crotches of the meaningless amount of slurry your shameglobes actually produce, then pull your pants back up. While you're struggling with your shorts, Aradia peeks back over the rock formation you're hiding behind.</p><p>"Can you <i>believe</i> that they're still going?!" she says in awe, and both of you just dissolve into choked laughter, trying to down the volume by covering each other's mouths and shooshing each other like it was actually going to make a difference. Maybe it's because you both run warm - you're more aware of how time is passing than trolls at the level that Eridan, and even Vriska were hatched to. But maybe it's just because you both have something less than the overweening egos both of the other trolls possess.</p><p>You know what's important, and you both know it's not whatever the fuck Vriska and Eridan are trying to pull on each other. And uh, honestly? You're way happier being you than you think either Vriska or Eridan are happy being themselves.</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Love is like a good cake; you never know when it's coming, but you'd better eat it when it does!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>19. Moirails Who Pail | Tickling | <b>Food/Feeding</b> | Cuddlefucking</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"If you keep feeding me like this, I'm going to pop," you say, as though you actually want her to stop. That is an actual lie, but you feel like you need to make some sort of notation on the situation. Just a nota bene to make sure everyone's on the same page here. You feel full and torpid, like your stomach is pushing out into the waistband of your skinny jeans and you finally give into temptation and ease the button open. You can almost feel your stomach rushing to take advantage of the extra space, like careening floodwaters when the proverbial little Dutch boy takes his finger out of the dyke. </p><p>Jane smiles down at you like a goddess, the type of domestic goddess that can whip up a five layer cake in the kitchen on a Monday, make souffle the next and you don't know, what else is hard to do in a kitchen? She can do it fucking all, without breaking a sweat or mussing her bright red lipstick. As far as you're concerned, fried eggs on toast or Kraft Mac and Cheese is the limit of your gastronomic abilities. Maybe if you're feeling really frisky, Hamburger Helper. Your skills at sick fires are out of place in a kitchen (no, really, the last time you'd stepped foot in there, you'd set off a grease fire and there's still a black spot on the ceiling. You're fucking banned as far as Jane is concerned).</p><p>Also she might use Crocker packet mix when she's having a lazy day, but it's perfectly fine. You don't know why John was always so against it. You're pretty sure that neither of you are brainwashed (at least not by a convenience baking company).</p><p>"I think you can fit a little more in," she coos, and scoops another spoonful from the tiramisu cake she's got in one hand like a weapon. Oh god. Well. You've just been eating your way through like, a fucking degustation of food and <i>so fucking much</i> of it. Jane has <i>expanded</i> your palette from the shitty kid's menu side of Applebees to something god damn explosive. And expanded your experience on a few other fucking things too, god bless the Crockbert can do attitude and willingness to experiment. Jane's attitude seems to be, try it once, and if it feels good - do it twice. "C'mon, Dave! Don't leave my tiramisu out in the cold."</p><p>When she laughs, Jane does it with her whole body and you have to watch appreciatively as her glorious mammaries do their own mamma jamma mambo under her shirt. God. She's so fucking hot. It's like the stuff that made you crush on John, but when she pranks you, you're kinda mollified by the knowledge that you're going to have your hands on those titties later. Fucking amazing. You have to admit that in some things, you are one fucking simple man. Easily led by your dick, and apparently your stomach.</p><p>"Fine," you sigh, and shrug a bit. Jane smiles like a predator, all teeth and red lipstick and you feel a shudder race down your spine. Oh boy, this is...going to be a fun night. "C'mon, lay it on me, Janeycakes."</p><p>"That's my brave boy," Jane chuckles, and another spoonful of delicious, calorie laden, coffee and liqueur soaked cake slowly airplanes its way to your waiting mouth. She feeds you like a sweet little baby bird, and you make sure to suck the chocolate dust off the bowl of the spoon, then wiggle your eyebrows at her. You're lucky she thinks you're suave as fuck, honestly. You don't know who else would put up with the shit you pull. She slides closer across the table at you, and she just keeps giving you oh aren't you cute and funny look. Honestly, at some point you probably would have taken that as patronising, now it just kinda makes your dick twitch.The same way a full stomach does. What can you say? Men ain't nothing but dogs, and you've read about Pavlov's theories.</p><p>Putting your hands on her hips, you lock eyes with her and open your mouth to let her feed you another bite. You're probably going to regret this later, but right now...no fucking ragrets at all.</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. i think you make yourself the victim just about every single day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>20. Sex For The Messiahs | Bondage | <b>Bruises Or Other Marks</b> | Blindfolds/Restricted Sight</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You blink lazy-eyed at your blueblood brother, and ponder this idea of righteous punishment for all his wrongs that he has brought before you for your consideration and deliberation. He come all this way to seek you out in private, in the block you've tentatively claimed for your own self on this hurling chunk of spacerock. You don't get it, but you suppose that if he thinks as he's done wrong, then it's only right that he should receive a proper motherfucking penance. Why, that was almost mirthful. And you'd never seen a joke like this before, where a motherfucker would come to seek out punishment apurpose and knowing of it. You wager you could do anything to him, and he'd let you.</p><p>That's a whole lot to lay on a brother, but you are motherfucking ready to shoulder that burden.</p><p>"Sure, bro." You haven't had a pie yet today, so all your faculties are god damn sharp and you are motherfucking primed. You look Equius over, that grave expression on his face and the way he won't meet you gaze to gaze. As though he ain't fit to and some part of you enjoys that. You smile slow, and reach down to pull his chin up so he be looking at you where you're standing face to face with a motherfucker. With a twist of your fingers, you pluck his shades from his face and put them on your own; huh. Be real dark all of a sudden, but you appreciate the feeling of how he's suddenly bare and you're closed off. Usually you don't want to shut motherfuckers out, but you gotta think your way through this and you don't think he'll enjoy this shit as much if he can see you puzzling your way through it.</p><p>Because he is going to enjoy it, he loves this disgusting vileness. He wants to be put down on his knees and to suffer his place under you. You put on a stupid act on Trollian, when he be asking you to act the Highblood to his low with all that roundabout way he has, but you ain't dumb. You know what porn is, you know what he's <i>really</i> asking of you. You know this is what gets his hoofbeasts galloping, his motors revving. You're more of a considering and thinking troll than any non-believer would think and ain't that just the way of the clown, all the motherfucking way down? It's a bright show of whoop whoop and faygo showers, but they see as much that is true of the Church as they see your real face underneath the paint. All of 'em ignorant and deluded and they ain't got no clue. Well, that just be the way of the juggalo and you sure do read your Scriptures and consider on the way of the Messiahs, as any faithful should and you do your motherfucking best to please Them. And ain't that all They could want from you? Sure as fuck, you hope so.</p><p>If you look at things the right way, than this is a kind of motherfucking reward for doing so righteous and well. And what a hellacious reward Eqbro is for a ninja like yourself.</p><p>"If this is what you want, then I'll motherfucking give it to you." He looks up at you, from his place on his knees and has this naked fucking look on his face, not a motherfucker who's ever learned to hide. Not when he had his eyeprotectors to do the hiding for him. Taking them away, you've exposed him for the weak pining bitch he is and it's a glorious motherfucking sight. You flex your stubs for a moment, curling them to your palm and stretching them out, getting a feel for this shit.</p><p>Then you pull back and slap him so hard across the face, for a moment you think you broke your fucking grasper on his god damn <i>jaw</i>. Blue sprays from his mouth, and he makes a choked little sob but he looks back up at you like you've made all his dreams come true. You cup his jaw and rub your thumb over where you've split his lip before smearing it across his mouth and up his cheeks in a bigger, blueblueblue smile. </p><p>"Still want it, my most lowest of low brother?" you murmur, and he nods and says yes in a hitching little gasp, and you let yourself smile to match what you've painted on his face. And you're right, he will let you do motherfucking anything you want, and he wants it hard and he wants it cruel. But still he's so mountainous piteous, you tell him how beautiful he is, how good he is while you're taking him apart. Blow by blow and blood by bruise. </p><p>You have to teach him to cry your name instead of your blood, teach him to beg and say <i>Gamzee</i>. Gamzee, Gamzee, Gamzee, your name spilling from his maw like a most righteous prayer. He makes you feel like a god, like you're one of the Messiahs yourself and something about that feels real <i>motherfucking righteous</i>. </p><p>With pity in your pusher and understanding of what he motherfucking needs from you, you smile down at him with your hands wrapped around his throat and your bulge rootdeep in his most tight and clenching nook and that broken-toothed gasp he's got on his nug is one of the most beautiful things you've ever saw. Every bruise and bite, every scratch on him is something you've left and you know you've done more than just leave marks on his body; you've left your motherfucking sign on his soul. What he's given you is a motherfucking gift, and you will make sure that you repay him in full for the bounty of it.</p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. checkmate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>21. Bodyswap | <b>Kismesissitude</b> | 69ing | Begging</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Well, are you going to do something? Or just stare around, looking threatening and vaguely constipated?" you say, and flex your wrists inside the ropes that are tying your hands behind your back. It would be easy if it was just them, but for once Eridan has decided to actually tie you down properly. Your ankles are tied to the legs of the chair, your upper arms to the slats of the chair and your wrists tight together behind the back. You're vaguely impressed; it seems that he has been doing some studying in his recreational time. "It's really not that great a look for you."</p><p>"Would you just shut up, and let me do this? You always have to pick holes in everything I do, do you have <i>any</i> fuckin' idea how annoying that is?" he declares, waving his hands around like you're going to be impressed. You raise one eyebrow, very carefully calculated to the degree guaranteed to gain the most ire. As you'd thought might happens, he blows up and you get his mouth slammed onto yours in no short order. The kiss is both brutal, and heartily satisfying as your chair tilts back onto just the two back legs while the two of you battle for some kind of dominance in just a simple kiss. If he drops you, you are going to remove his fucking windpipe with your knitting needles and you hope he realises that.</p><p>You love Kanaya. That's in no way in any kind of doubt. But at the same time, Eridan drives you right <i>up the fucking wall</i>. It had taken more than a few sessions of couples therapy, but here you are. Kanaya is your matesprit, and Eridan is your kismesis. It's unorthodox, certainly. Usually the human half of a human-troll partnership is the one that requires talking around to accept another quadrant partner; for you and Kanaya, it had been the fact that you'd fixated on Eridan Ampora. Out of all the people of your mutual acquaintances. </p><p>You can't really blame her. He is a complete and total pretentious asshole. But there's something about him, something that lingers in your psyche and that makes you want to claw him apart and feast on his insides. It's not very human of you; but what can there really be said to be human about a girl who came from the vagaries of a universal computer game and a test tube? You are what you are; and Eridan is what he is. So here you are, roleplaying a little and you're supposed to be his archrival and some kind of superhero, and a damsel in distress. It's more for him than you, but you have to admit that being kidnapped and tied up was kind of fun - in a Silver era comics kind of way. You'd had a chance to bust out your sewing skills for it, which was a change. And Eridan certainly looks the part, dressed in some kind of skin-tight something and with a cape even more ostentatious than what you've seen of his formal evening wear. </p><p>Of course, you don't really rely on anyone else to rescue you, and you never have. When you're tired of him posturing and boasting, you plan on using the knives installed in your cute little kitty-heeled shoes to cut the ropes on your ankles and then fight your way out from there. It's always nice to see Eridan flailing and his mouth gaping, but you can't help the fact that he never thinks as far ahead in the chess game of your kismesissitude as you do.  Still. Sometimes, he <i>does</i> surprise you - or you would have broken this off already. He throws you just enough curveballs that you always come swinging around back to him and this particular kind of deep black heat.</p><p>"Bitch," he hisses at you, his lip bleeding and your lipstick smeared all over his grey face. You smirk a little, because it's just how you like to see him. It's like he's wearing all your colours at once, if you'd been a troll. Black and violet - you can't help that he came prepackaged to be your nemesis, as it were.</p><p>"Don't be so predictable, Eridan," you scold, and twist your ankle sideways to release the knife. "You don't want to <i>bore</i> me, do you?"</p><p>"If you're bored, then maybe we should move onto something else," he snarls, and his earfins flare out like you should be afraid of him. You scoff a little, because treating you like you're a lowblood troll is only guaranteed to annoy you and nothing more. You twist your leg up, and then down, and then kick straight up and out with all the strength of your maternally enforced childhood ballet lessons. Eridan is just perceptive enough that he twists to take your kick on the inside of his thigh rather than right between his legs. </p><p>"Let's do that, sweetie," you croon, and throw yourself backwards to make the chair shatter apart. Really, a wooden chair? He underestimates you. By the time this over, you plan to have Eridan begging for you - and it's going to be very satisfying for you. On so many levels.</p><p>You really can't resist a man who lets you take him apart both mentally and physically. It's really one of your weaknesses, and you blame Dave for it. But at the same time - it's so much <i>fun</i>.</p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. no man, at one time, can be wise, and love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>22. Cam Work | Partner Sharing | <b>Bulge/Nook Worship</b> | Carapaces</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There have been a million million different pathways you could have taken, and you know that this is not one of the ones that will lead to the outcomes that you want. At the same time, it's not like it is without its benefits. This may not be the pathway that settles solidly, but you plan on enjoying it until you reach the point where it tapers off. Or gets cut off.</p><p>Your name is Kankri Maryam, and you constantly have visions of a different world. A kinder, better one. Still flawed, but despite that - still something that this world that you were hatched to could learn from. Something about a certain generosity of spirit, and kindness. Community. Of love. You've often wondered why you were afflicted with these sights but you have better things to think of at this moment.</p><p>Mainly, the violet nook on top of your mouth while you lay back on this really rather comfortable platform and hold onto the Orphaner's muscled thighs firmly to hold him in place as you lick your way into and around the sopping slit on top of your face. You're a troll of simple pleasures. A troll of simple needs. And you have so much love to give, you could hardly restrain yourself when you know that someone needs your particular brand of comfort. Or persuasion? It doesn't really matter either way, but it is a good thing that your Disciple is so entirely understanding of your many quirks in personality. You can not think of another troll that you would be so well-matched with, in terms of life goals - even though you take so many meandering sidetrips along the way.</p><p>Eating nook is one of your pleasures in life. Every troll is different, and enjoys something different when it comes to eating nook. The softer and lighter you lick and mouth at Dualscar's nook, the more you hear him trill and gasp. You don't think he even realises that he's doing it. It's a show of vulnerability that you don't think he would allow himself at any other time. And even when he 'allows' it, he doesn't let himself realise that he's doing it. He's so messed up about caring, about allowing someone to show him pity that it makes your chest ache. </p><p>Right now, you are sure he is not thinking about any one of those things. Not his rank, or yours, or your illegality, or his command to serve the Empire by removing its enemies (of which you don't want to think you are one, but you are sure that the Empress thinks otherwise). Right now, you are both merely trolls bringing each other pleasure. The taste on your mouth is salt and mineral, with an undertone of something like meat. You croon and lick your way deeper, closing your eyes to concentrate all your focus on exploring his nook. Pleasing him.</p><p>You want to make him spill. You want to make him shake apart, this big bold Orphaner with his face so scarred and voice all hoarse with wind and bravado. You never mind being smaller than your pailing partners, it's just the way things are. You have more than enough whipcord muscle to hold Cronus up, to make sure he stays in place as you lap at his nook like it is a fountain of wine. This sharing of pleasure, of self - it's the most worthy communion you have ever come across.</p><p>A broad hand with callouses across the fingergrips closes around your bulge and strokes you from base to tip and you croon appreciatively. You are never against a little more audience participation. From somewhere above your head, you can hear him swear as you find a way to spend your attention on one very sensitive node just inside his lips. Tongue pressing, licking, sucking at it until you feel his thighs close harder around the sides of your head. When it comes to occasions like this, you feel almost glad that your horns are so short and discreet.</p><p>It really does make things easier.</p><p>You don't know how much longer it will be until Cronus spills all over your face, but you don't think it will be long. And with the way he's stroking your bulge, you don't think it will be much longer for you either. What a really <i>fortunate</i> meeting. You don't know if your sermons will have an impact on him, he'd scoffed and acted all brash and cocksure about how things were and how they would never change, but...you've found that your ministry can often work miracles in circumstances like these.</p><p>And even if he never changes his mind, you will both still have this memory. And because he is who <i>he</i> is, it will probably be a memory that lasts much longer than you will. You don't have much peace, so you have to take it where you can find it. And this time, it comes in a gush of violet slurry as you gasp and splutter and swallow, your own hips arching into his faltering grip as he loses track of where he is as he orgasms loudly, cursing you with every shaking breath but obviously in his own moment of ecstasy. And it's all thanks to you, and your mouth.</p><p>If you feel a bit smug about it, you can't be blamed.</p><p>Also, you're sure that in a moment, Cronus will finish you off as well. At least, he'd fucking better or you are going to have some stern words to say once you get your breath back.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. will you love me just a little (just enough to show you care)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>23. <b>Ashen Care | Aftercare</b> | Partner Sharing | Mutual Masturbation </p>
<p>Is this a callback to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26405830">this</a>? Yes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When everything finishes, it's like it all comes crashing down hard and you're left buzzing, twitching in the aftershocks. You're all sweaty and slick with slurry, and Eridan ain't much better. The ache of pacified aggression is perfect ash in your mouth, and you stretch to feel how your body hates you for it. Platonically, a course. That's what all of this was about.</p>
<p>You're mostly thinking about just turning over and going to sleep, maybe finding a way to make Eridan uncomfortable while you do it; when suddenly a cold cloth plasters itself to your thigh. You can't help yourself - you squawk, and thrash just a little bit. A warm hand pushes you back down and your head jerks, until your gaze meets Damara's, from where she's standing over the both of you. The platform is a write-off, stained with violet slurry from one end to the other and both you and Danny-boy are as naked as the nights you were hatched, even if so much more handsome looking (literally anything is better looking than a troll pupa, you swear to god). And Damara still has all her clothes on, and a certain twist to her mouth that says she ain't that impressed by what she sees.</p>
<p>God, she's sexy. You love it when she looks all disapproving and disappointed at you like that. Like she didn't encourage this shit and orchestrate it from beginning to end.</p>
<p>"Sup, kitten?" you slur, because doll is off limits, it is <i>way</i> off limits. When you'd let it slip once, she'd thrown a vase at your head and then just - <i>left</i>. Leaving you and Eridan both shattered and blaming each other for it, even though you'd known it was all you and if you'd thought just an ounce ahead - you wouldn't have ruined fucking everything about the night with one misplaced word of affection. "You gonna come down here or what?"</p>
<p>"Disgusting, filthy fish, you stink like furui semen," she tells you with a buzz in her voice like a ripsaw and then uses the cloth to ruthlessly clean you off with harsh wipes at your thighs and crotch; good thing your bulge has already retracted or that might have really hurt. As it is, you wince just a tiny bit (<i>only</i> a tiny bit). When she moves onto Eridan, he arches up and whips around like he's going to bite her, but you get an arm around his neck before he does and throttle him back. To distract him from the wet wipeslab cleaning up his nethers, you use your other hand to tip his head back and kiss him. He ain't been dead or alive as long as you have, so he kind of subsides with this real cute little mewl. Little spitfire. You'd pity him if you didn't hate him so much. "Baka wa shinanakya naoranai..."</p>
<p>"Look, baka means idiot, right? I've caught on to that much," you complain but when she pulls aggressively at your arm, you pick yourself up and because you're such a stellar kinda guy (and Eridan is small and light enough), you pick Eridan up too. Cradling him against your bare chest as you shuffle out of the funky-smelling respiteblock and out and down the corridor to Damara's. Much cleaner and nicer, and you sniff appreciatively at the air which smells like smoky perfumed incense instead of sweat and slurry. It's <i>definitely</i> an improvement. "I mean, you say it often enough..."</p>
<p>Damara turns back to you, smacking her palm to your cheek in a way that makes you wince and pulls you down by your hair to look at her more closely. Eridan mumbles something and turns into your chest, shifting away from the way Damara is pressing against him. You don't fucking know why; if you were so blessed as to be pressed up against those cute rumblespheres, you'd be leaning <i>toward</i> them, not away. </p>
<p>"One day, I will murder you in your sleep and no one will wonder why, you desperate ass motherfucker," she tells you in a sickeningly sweet tone and you smirk a little, because that's how you know she cares. Hey, you're all bad at communicating. Maybe it's why you get along so well.</p>
<p>"Let me put the kid down, huh? He's getting fatter by the night," you say and then wheeze as Eridan's elbow jabs you with lethal accuracy between the ribs. It takes absolutely no thought at all to drop him on the fucking ground; what a little <i>asshole</i>. And here you were, carrying him to sopor like a good fucking...whatever you were to each other. Hatchmate? Signsib? There's been a few terms bandied around, but you ain't settled for any of 'em yet. They don't quite give you that sense of lingering affectionate dislike you get when you look at Eridan.</p>
<p>"Fuck!" he yelps as he hits the floor, and rolls away before your foot manages to connect with his side. Just to let him get a feel of how it was to get caught in the gills unaware. He kicks out at you from his place on the floor and you skip to the side, feeling a low growl throb in your chest. You don't let it out, but you know it's there. "Damara! Cro's being an <i>asshole!</i>"</p>
<p>"You deserve that, sakana baka," your rustblooded auspistice sniffs, and then saunters between you both to the overlarge soporpod that serves as a sort of recupercoon for the three of you when you ain't in the mood to split up. must be the phereomes, because a lot of the time you all just split up to your seperate blocks. But now you've carried Eridan's fat ass all the way in here, you don't think you really want to leave. And since Damara is starting to undress, you are suddenly very sure you don't want to leave.</p>
<p>You aim one more kick at Eridan's ribs and then ignore him to climb up onto the ginourmous soporsack, feeling it shift and tilt underneath you as you crawl closer to Damara. Flopping down with your head on one of the pillows, you close your eyes and feel the shifting that means Eridan is coming up too and hasn't run away like some kinda fucking pussy. You hadn't really done anything to him, after all. You, on the other hand, are just starting to feel the sting of the scratches up and down your back his claws had left behind, territorial little fucker.</p>
<p>"Stupid," Damara sniffs, but then her hand comes down to caress your face and up across your cheek to your hairline, and then a thumb presses firmly against your hornbed. You sigh. Roll just a little closer to her, and crack your eyes to see Eridan doing much the same thing. He sneers at you and your fingers twitch with the desire to slap that fucking look off his face, but Damara's claws dig into your thigh before you can finish more than the thought of it.</p>
<p>"Ow," you complain, and Eridan snickers like the little sycophant he is. Ha ha. You're going to have such a good time when he gets on Damara's bad side next. "Kitten, you really gotta be like that?"</p>
<p>"Hai, because both of you so fuckwit dumb, like brain removed by skullfucking horrorterror tentacles," Damara retorts and while you're rolling that terrible imagery around your thinkpan, she sits up to lean over and turn the lights off. Plunging all three of you into darkness. Her hand finds your face and <i>kind of</i> paps at you. You manage to kiss her fingers, even though she was more aiming at your eyes. "Now go to sleep, stupid fish," she orders and you chuckle in the back of your throat, but honestly you're kind of glad for her saying so. </p>
<p>"Fuck you, Megido," you say, honestly affectionate and you curl into her as her hand settles atop your head to stroke your head. Since you moved first, you're the one that gets to rest your head against Damara's tits - score. Smugly pleased with yourself, you drift off to sleep, knowing that some corner of your mind is already planning how to spite Eridan to make Damara get that pissed off tone of voice again. When it leads to such good results, how can you fucking resist? And if Damara really cared, she wouldn't be here. Maybe both your first life and your afterlife had kinda sucked - but this second hatched chance you managed to fall into is kind of banging.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. take me down to the paradise city (where the grass is green and the girls are pretty)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>24. <b>Sex Outdoors</b> | Face Paint |<b>Fingering </b>| Religion Kink Or Hierophilia</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Yeah, right <i>there</i>," you moan, cheering your matesprit on as he presses you up against one of the trees somewhere sorta kinda near your hive. Far enough away that you don't think you're going to get caught by Pounce; pawnestly, Pounce is the <i>best</i> lusus, loving, caring, affectionate, nurturing...but sometimes a growing troll can have a little too much of a good thing. It's the same thing with your meowrail! You're so fucking pale for Equius it's stupid, but he doesn't <i>approve</i> of things like this. And you do. And since it's your nook your matesprit has his frondnubs inside while his needlely and jagged fangs nip at your throat, you think you're the one who's opinion matters the meowst here!</p><p>You have to admit though, Gamzee Makara was not anywhere <i>close</i> to where you'd seen your flush settling when you'd been drawing up your quadrant wall. You don't think it had even made it on there as a <i>crack</i> ship! But somehow, the scent of greasepaint and Faygo has crept its way into your pusher. You don't know how you'd do without it now. It's up there with the scent of blueblood sweat and engine grease. It's safe. It's comforting. And disgusting. It's a scent of hive.</p><p>"Fuuuuck, I love those sounds you make, my most motherfucking sweet meowmacita," Gamzee groans against your throat, and there are exactly two trolls you'd let get that close to your carotid artery and he's one of them. You mew encouragingly, and drag your claws down his back, ripping skin open to let out the salt-sweet scent of his blood. This is your hiveground, you're safe - you'd hunted anything <i>big</i> out when you were about five sweeps old and you patrol regularly to make sure things stay that way. "Sweet as sugar and twice as red...fuck, Nepsis, yeah, c'mon, tell me how you <i>motherfucking</i> like it, spin it out for a brother's listening auriculars, huh..."</p><p>"More, <i>more</i>, come ON, <i>Gamzee</i>," you whine, but he's focused on the curl of his fingers inside your nook, the way they're rubbing up against your inside walls. That's fucking obvious, because he's not paying one <i>lick</i> of attention to your bulge! No matter how needfully it grasps and curls around his wrist as you pepper kisses across his cheeks and along his jaw. Your nostrils flare, mouth slightly open to let the air pass over the roof of your mouth, breathing in the cloying scent of him and closing your eyes for a moment to make sure there's nothing you need to worry about in the general atmosphere of this glade beyond him. Nothing. You're safe. You're ok.</p><p>Since you're the woods-wise one here, you're the one that's meant to be keeping lookout but that's terribly difficult when Gamzee makes those kind of come-hither moves with his frondstubs on the inside of your nook. You bury your face against his shoulder for a moment, hips jerking needily as he fingers you open like he might just get around to putting his bulge in your nook one of these balmy nights. Ugh, he's so frustrating when he gets in a playful mood! If it didn't turn out so well for you efurry time, you might be a little miffed about how long it takes to get to the point where you actually pail.</p><p>Also he's not sensitive about when you want to put <i>your</i> bulge in <i>his</i> nook, which is nice! Whatever feels good, feels good and therefur <i>is</i> good, seems to be Gamzee's philosophy on life and you kind of like it. You don't feel the need to pry and pick to make him improve himself the way you do with Equius. You can just be giddy with him, silly and drunk on flush and pity feelings. </p><p>You've nefur really let yourself go like this before and it's...it's <i>nice</i>. Maybe you needed to do what you keep telling Sweatquius <i>he</i> needs to do - relax. Just enjoy the moment. With Gamzee kissing you enthuaistically, and all those little nips and bites at your shoulders and throats to give you just the right kind of thrum of sparking pain to stoke you even higher, you trill loudly, letting your voice out as he almost drives you up onto your toes. Your head barely clears the line of his shoulder, but that's never bothered you. Out of the two of you, you know who <i>really</i> has the killer instinct here and hint - it's not fucking Gamzee, god.</p><p>You're both naked in the open, exposed (so <i>lewd!</i> - even if no one could pawsibly see you) and you snarl into his mouth as he kisses you again and somehow <i>you swear</i> - even though it's impossible - that he manages to get his grasperstubs so deep they're pressing up against your genematerial-sack sphincter, high and deep at the inside end of your nook. That's literally impossible, no troll has fingers that long but you can feel every inch of you tensing up in preparation all the same. </p><p>"There's my furocious lil mama, ay, come on, baby," he croons at you and you wail with pleasure, highpitched and <i>loud</i>, and spill all over his fingers as you look into his eyes. They almost seem to pull you in, gold flecked with purple - yours are almost all the way olive, but you're a few steps below Gamzee on the hemospectrum, that's only to be expected. While you gush dirty green from your nook onto the forest floor, you let Gamzee hold you up, his fronds gentling as he supports you. Kisses becoming softer and more fond, and - you can feel his bulge slithering against the inside of your thigh.</p><p>"Round two?" you ask him and Gamzee grins at you, showing every one of his teeth. If you were a lesser troll, with less bravery in your cardiopump - you might quail before his smile. As it is, you just find a way to hitch your legs around his hips, feeling the bark of the tree behind you scrape at the skin of your back. You're glad you've got so much antiseptic wash back at your cave, that's all you're saying! Between the two of you, you're pretty sure you're on your way to using up a full sweep's allowance for your blood colour.</p><p>"Round two," he agrees and you chirp loudly as his bulge snakes its way into your nook. This is simply the <i>best</i>, and you couldn't pretend otherwise. Being outside, in the middle of nowhere you can both be as loud as you like - and take as long as you like. When you return to the cave with Gamzee, you know Pounce will complain but she won't be a bitch about it. And by the time you get back to your cavehive, you will both be <i>really</i> ready for the ablutionblock and you're looking forward to it - but not as much as you're enjoying the feel of Gamzee's bulge stroking its way through your nook right now.</p><p>You bite him to show how much you're enjoying it, and his claws dig into your ass as he hoists you up against the tree and swears loudly. Pawnestly? This is the fucking <i>best</i>, and it beats the <i>shit</i> out of any of your fanfictions any fucking night. Because it's real, it's true, and he's really here with you - and <i>fuck</i>, it feels so <i>good</i>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. when the world gives you a raw deal (get even)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>25. Sex With A Ghost | <b>Cock/Bulge Warming</b> | Bukkake | Heat</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There's a lot of f'ckin' things you'd found out that were surprising about Aranea's <i>friend</i>. You can't blame her for being cagey about where she got her arm done and sh't, considering who had done it for her. Like, seriously. Not even just <i>a</i> blueblood, but <i>the</i> blueblood. The troll once known as the Executioner Darkleer. That Executioner (and it would have been bad enough that he was an Executioner at all, if you're gonna speak straight). The one who'd killed the Sufferer, and considering you were all part of a Sufferist uprising, yeah. You can't blame her for trying to keep sh't quiet.</p><p>Still, you'd be lying if you said you and the Expatriate, as he was calling himself now, hadn't hit it off. You know, in a few ways. It has something to do with how he has a giant wiggly for being stepped on, and ground down. And apparently since he can't get it from the f'ckin clowns anymore, he has found a way in his 'voodoo-addled thinkpan to justify getting it from you. You're cool with that, you can swing it. It's a different kind of itch you're getting scratched, compared to what you have with your sweet spider. </p><p>Especially when it means that right now, he's sitting in front of you with your bulge in his mouth while you pretend that you're actually working on this logistics paperwork. There's a lot of administration involved in going to war, as boring as that is. Trolls need to be fed and clothed, and now everything about that is up to you to deal with. There's some trolls you trust but there's so many useless mouths in your ranks, it's crazy sh't. You had left the Imperial Army, but it's not like you'd left all of that paperwork sh't behind you <i>at all</i>. In fact, it's kinda worse now? Since you're the one in charge; everything's resting stretched between your horns and dang, that's such a f'ckin' lot to take on. You had only been a cavalreaper sergeant - at least you've got Aranea, you guess. She's used to commanding forces of more than just a platoon. </p><p>Anyway, as you said before, you're not really concentrating on your paperwork like you should because there's a sweet cool mouth wrapped around your bulge. You can feel the edges of his fangs as your bulge squirms gently in his mouth, seeking out the kind of ripple it's only gonna get in a nook. Every so often, he kind of gags a little as the tip of your bulge investigates the opening to his windtunnel, but that just feels good. </p><p>Stretching a little, you shift to get comfortable and he moves with you to keep his mouth tight on your bulge. You wonder honestly what the f'ck he's getting out of this. He never even touches himself, while at the same time you do whatever you want to him - even though you've mostly kept it above the waistline so far. A little bulgesucking, some nookeating, and generally covering that craggily noble face with brown slurry. He looks <i>good</i> covered in plebian genemat, and that's the truth. Also, he gets really <i>intense</i> about sh't, so you're pretty sure he's getting himself out later out of your sight. Whatever shoes his hoofbeast, you guess.</p><p>There's something real nice about having an actual Executioner, a troll who you would've been up for meeting in much less fun circumstances if the Empire had had its way, acting like nothing more than just a toy for your bulge. As he breathes, he swallows, tongue pressing up against the underside of your bulge and you look down at him for a moment, considering whether to fuck his maw yet or whether you can keep on holding on.</p><p>Yeah, you can keep this up for a while longer. There's just something pretty f'cking intoxicating about treating this blueblood <i>this</i> way. And you don't get so much time to relax anymore, so you're gonna take that sh't where you can find it. </p><p>You're kind of looking forward to spilling all over his face, or down his throat and making him swallow it, but you ain't really made up your mind yet. You're sure when you're ready for it, what you really wanna do will come to you.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. now I know I'm being used (that's okay, man, 'cause I like the abuse)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>26. <b>Collars | Caste Play | Omorashi</b> | Grimdark</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The weight of your bladder inside your abdomen is excruciating. You've never tried to hold yourself back from using the loadgaper on purpose before; of horse, occasionally you've gotten wrapped up in working and ignored your body until the point where you almost <i>did</i> commit a wigglerish accident. And if there had been an occasion, here or there, where you might have actually done so, no one had seen you. So it didn't count.</p><p>But right now, you are being fondly and <i>intently</i> watched by Vriska. She's hungrily taking in every almost involuntary squirming movement you make as you try to concentrate on anything other than your need to go to the ablutionblock <i>immediately</i>. Every moment you hold on is just a breath of continued humiliation, but not worse than it would be if you actually <i>let go</i>. Even the thought is almost enough to open your internal floodgates and you can feel your eyes tearing as you try to breathe shallowly and squeeze down the urge to wet yourself. It's getting worse and worse by the moment, an exponential wave of tense humiliating urges that you keep denying yourself the ability to satisfy.</p><p>"What's the matter, Equius?" Her tone of voice is fake-kind and sickeningly sweet, but it's a question that you know she already knows the answer to. Since she has put you in this predicament; you just hadn't thought it would be this difficolt. Or maybe, that she would relent before it got this far. Really, you ought to have known better. You make a choked sound, and concentrate on keeping your hands behind your back, instead of pushing them between your thighs like pressing up and in on your boneshields could make you hold the aching weight of your overfull bladder any better. "You having some problems down there?"</p><p>"N-nuh-no, I am fine," you say, horrifically aware of how shaky your voice is. Vriska smiles nastily down at you with all her fangs and the scarlet lights of her LED-ocular lighting up for a moment with gleeful pleasure, her fingers wrapped around one end of the leash and the other attached to the collar around your throat. "Mistress," you tack on hastily, trying to make it seem as though you hadn't forgotten. Marely taking a breath to compose yourself. From the way her eyebrow rises, you don't think you succeeded. </p><p>"You know I love watching you sweat, Equius! Especially when you're trying not to disgrace yourself," she purrs, and shifts in her seat as she looks down at you where you're kneeling on the floor. She's not wearing her usual thick-heeled boots, barefooted as a ragamuffin, and lifting one surprisingly delicate foot, she places it with unerring aim where your stomach is clenched hardest in trying to keep everything in. She presses; you choke and feel a spurt of wetness escape your control. Dampening your underwear inside your shorts, but hopefully not <i>visible</i>. Oh, she has to let you go soon. Surely. "Big strong blueblood, can't even hold in his own piss! It's disgusting, you know. If everyone could just <i>seeeeeeee</i> you now, Sweatquius. You're such a <i>pervert</i>. I should take a photo! I bet I know where I could make the most money selling it too."</p><p>"Ah, <i>don't</i>, please," you wheeze, feeling something worse than naked in front of your gaze as she looks down at you as avidly as a carrionflyer looking at a newly dead carcass. Vriska just smiles as sharp as a knife, and wiggles her toes before digging them hard into the muscles of your stomach. "Serket - no, ah fuck -" you keen miserably as your control fails and you piss yourself in front of her, sobbing a little with the relief and the revulsion of it all as your urine drenches your shorts with cool liquid. It's a different feeling to when she's made you spill in your shorts before; less viscous, more clingy. The puddle goes beyond just staining your shorts. You're left kneeling in what feels like a vast expanse of it, the sheer relief throbbing through your veins close to something like orgasm while at the same time you want to disappear through the floor for doing it in front of your kismesis. You hate her. You hate her <i>so much</i>. It's something glorious and dark, and so pitch-hot you could tear her throat out with your teeth if she only got close enough.</p><p>Vriska throws her head back with a triumphant cackle and then uses the leash to pull you closer, jerking painfully at your throat as you feel your bulge finally start to squirm out of its sheath. That had been playing havoc with your control as well, of horse. You're so <i>vile</i>, so lewd. This is what you deserve. With quick, decisive movements of her robotic hand, she unsnaps the fastenings on her jeans and her bulge squirms out, a lighter blue than yours and nowhere near as large. It might be petty to feel like that, but you'll take your triumphs where you may.</p><p>"Come onnnnnnnn, Zahhak, let's see you use that big mouth for something <i>worthwhile</i>, for once," she sneers and you open your mouth to accept her bulge into it. The collar pinches at your neck as she hauls up on the leash, wrapping it around her arm to keep it short and the look in her remaining bio-eye promises more pain, more humiliation to come. </p><p>You can't wait to see what else she has in store for tonight.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <a href="https://imgur.com/4fkNLuH"></a>
  
</p><p> </p><p>When you're discussing Equius pissing his pants so your friend makes a shitpost.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. if you asked me for a hand (i'd toss you a hand grenade)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>27. <b>Shibari</b> | Biting | Chucklevoodoos | Latex And Leather</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You know it's kind of funny a big strong clown like you wants to get all tied up," Skylla muses as she looks down on you, and you can't hold back the roll of your sightnuggets at that shit. At least a brownblood bitch knows her way around some fucking rope, that's all you can say for this motherfucking nonsense she be spitting at a ninjalette. Everything is holding you in firmer and firmer with each cross and loop, and you breathe out from the pleasure of being held so motherfucking <i>securely</i>. "I ain't complaining though, don't get me wrong here, Chahut, but it just kinda niggles at a gal, you know?"</p><p>"Go fuck your lusus, bitch," you say pleasantly, and then hiss as she yanks on the ropes so hard they wedge up real nice and hard between the lips of your nook. You can feel yourself staining the white rope purple already and you croon, low and rumbling in the depths of your chest. Letting it reverberate through your 'spheres for max warning potential. Something in the back of Skylla's eyes flinches, something old and animal and knowing what sometroll like you could do to a troll like her and then her mouth firms up, chomping harder down on that stalk of grass. She pulls hard, and the rope saws up between and atwixt you and you <i>wheeze</i>, pleasurable tears of agony coming to your oculars like evening dew. "Ah-<i>HAH</i>, motherfuck-"</p><p>"If I thought I had the time, lil lady, I'd see about fixin' that nasty mouth of your'n," Skylla says in a voice that you're pretty sure is meant to be threatening. It's just a fact that you can't be threatened that easy, even considering how you're the one tied up naked and leaking slurry from your nook all the way down your thighs. You blink at her and then moan as she ties the last knot, making you really <i>feel</i> it. The ropes encircle you from your shoulders to your thighs, tight and holding you properly firm within their web. Sometimes it feels like you ain't even be able to <i>think</i> until you're in ropes, keep getting distract by unimportant shit. "Wash it out with a cleanserbar, huh. I'd have to do it everyday for a doggone <i>sweep</i>, I bet."</p><p>"Can't take - <i>uh</i> - those righteous words from the motherfucking faithful," you agree, and she makes you groan out next by raking her claws down your sides, over your grubscars and the little fakeygills that you'd managed to pick up somefuckingwhere in Mother Grub's slurry. You ain't got as much salt in you as some motherfuckers you know wearing the paint, but you got just enough for jankass gills that don't do shit. Just be overwhelming <i>sensitive</i>, and fuck you up proper when someone plays mean with em. Fuck. You do love it though. Everything Messiahs plot and plan has a motherfucking purpose, even if it's just to make a bitch's bulge twitch greedily for more. "Shi-iiit, girl, c'mon."</p><p>"I'd take a pic of you like this if I didn't think you'd break my fliphusk," she muses as though she's thought on it often. You pass your tongue over your lips, squeezing your graspers into fists and feeling how the ropes dig in at your arms and around your shoulders. Skylla's knots don't budge, they don't shift, they just seem to tighten up more - though you're pretty sure that's all a fantasy in your thinkpan - and wear more into your sinful hide. You're gonna be hiding bruises and scrapes under your uniform tomorrow and trying not to move careful, and you <i>feel</i> your nook throb at the thought. "Not to share around, yanno, just to - just to have."</p><p>"Y'ain't wrong, I'd break that shit right the fuck up," you agree with her and feel your oculars actually roll back so far you're pretty sure you can see your brain as she puts her boot-toe right up against the hard knot riding steady against your sheath, sending pulses of agonized pleasure hurtling up your spine. Oh god damn, motherfuck! Yeah, right fucking there. You couldn't stop your hips from twitching forward if you tried, and so you don't. Messiahs say, let all things come in the fullness of time and if Skylla keeps rubbing the tip of her pointed beefgrubdude walking-frond cover up against the base of your sheath like this, you're gonna spill sooner than you would motherfucking like. "Sn-<i>sna</i>p it, hhhngh, right between my grasperstubs - oh <i>shit</i>, Koriga, you - ah <i>damn</i> -"</p><p>"You getting ready to <i>spill</i>, Maenad, gonna make a mess o' my nice clean floors?" Skylla coos like the bitch she is, as though she fucking cares about the floor. The spades between you fair sear the oxygen clean out of the air and you let out a choked sound that you refuse to admit is a scream as she leans in close to kiss you and get her clawtips fixed in the slit of a fakeass gill on one side. Your whole body arches, and the knots between your thighs ride up and rub <i>harder</i> - and somehow you pull yourself back, somehow you subside again into shuddering on the floor. Breathing coming hard through your thorax and up out your windchute, and Skylla grins at you like the victory was hers, and not yours.</p><p>"You're gonna have to work harder than that," you tell her and her lip curls like she could spit in your face but she holds off. Too polite to do so. She'll get her frond wristdeep up your nook, lick your ass but she sure do hates it when you spill on her motherfucking floors. You guess farmtrolls just be funny that way. Your whole body seizes up with a chirring trill as she leans in to bite at your shoulder, and then to your throat and you can feel your muscles pressing against each and every inch of rope.</p><p>"Issat so? Then I guess I'll just have to try harder, I get ya meanin'," she murmurs in your ear, and when she kisses you next, you taste your blood on her lips. With a snap of your jaws, soon you taste hers as well and Skylla does not leave you wanting and forlorn at that gasp of pain, no. She presses in harder and deeper and kisses you so thorough, you'd swear her flavourslab was making its way down to your aeration sacks. Losing yourself in it and the tense of the ropes around your body is very fucking satisfying, you got to say that.</p><p>Maybe you ain't got everything you want up here in amongst the Fleet, but you sure do have efuckingnough that you're well enough served. For now, at least. Ain't that many sweeps until you can expect your little paintergrub (and the thought that Amisia won't make it is something you refuse to fucking contemplate). For now, you wouldn't say you be wasting your time, but there surely are better ways to spend it than in pining and waiting and Skylla do be showing you how to make the best of some of it. When it comes down to it, you're a motherfucking subjuggulator, and you be rolling with the punches like a god damn pro. It's just that sometimes, you want to be brought to a motherfucking halt - and that's where the ropes come in. And there weren't nothing unmirthful about that.</p>
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<a name="section0028"><h2>28. close your eyes (relax, and think of nothing for tonight) (Warning: noncon, mindcontrol)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>28. <b>Mind Control | Strip Tease</b> | Glory Holes | Cream Pie</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You know that something is wrong here but you don't know what. Something is fucking <i>off</i> about this entire situation, but you keep doing what you're doing almost mechanically, by rote. You can almost feel yourself getting close to what is wrong, but then the thought disappears and you go back to what you're doing every time. And you know somehow that you forget why you thought it was wrong, every time. Until you come back to it, again and again (and again and <i>again</i>.)</p>
<p>"Ain't he reel cute, clownfish?" your Empress croons (not your Empress, she's not, she's - the thought dies), and you shiver at the thought that you're pleasing Her by what you're doing. The music throbs in your veins like a cancer, and you strip off one glove, and then the other. You don't know what She gets out of you doing this shit but if it makes Her happy - you guess you can go along.</p>
<p>You're not some kind of stellar dancer or anything, and you're not what you'd call Troll Vogue beautiful but you're doing your best. From the croons and encouraging remarks your Empress keeps throwing out, you guess you're doing well enough. You strip out of the few clothes you have on, gyrating your hips and palming your thighs, stroking your ass and your grubscars as you stare into the distance. Something's wrong. You aren't supposed to be here. But you hear the Empress cheer you on, and something glitches and you smile, showing your fangs.</p>
<p>Something's <i>wrong</i>.</p>
<p>Despite that nagging doubt, you pout and preen and saunter your way off the small stage and to the chair where your Empress is waiting for you (not your Empress). The feeling of wrongness lurks in your gut even as you crawl up into Her lap, moving your ass like it could possibly arouse anyone. You vaguely remember watching movies that showed you how to do this, CruelTube videos of much more attractive people.</p>
<p>"Got him real fucked up there, huh, bitch," the voice to the side rumbles and you freeze for a moment, terror racing down your backbone before She slips Her hand against your cheek and paps you gently. After a moment, you remember yourself and your place (THIS IS FUCKED UP, nothing about this is FUCKING OKAY) and continue grinding on the crotch of Her bodysuit. You can feel Her bulge underneath the stretchy fabric and your mouth opens, panting as you continue to rub your body up against the vision of Her beauty (NO, FUCK THIS, FUCK HER - WHAT ARE YOU FUCKING DOING OH SWEET FUCK). "Guess he lookin' as cute as a bitch up for a motherfucking pay day, yeah. You gonna hog this little motherfucking slut, or what, you bulgetease?"</p>
<p>"Oh, wharu are my glubbin' mantas?" She laughs, and slides a hand up between your thighs. Two cool fingers fuck your nook briefly, leaving you breathless and choking as they curl inside you. Something about the way they feel is so wrong (too cold, way too fucking cold, who does this bitch think she fucking is, touching you like this) but you shut down the thought instantly. It's like bumper scuttlebuggies inside your thinkpan - when you think of something that makes you uneasy, you ricochet straight off to another one that lets what's happening make sense. "Go on over pier, cuddlefish. I wanna let this basshoal know what he's missing out on, huh."</p>
<p>"Yes, Empress," you moan, and Her fingers pull out so She can slap you across the ass and you do what you're told. You do your best approximation of a swagger across to the other comfortblock and the immense troll lounging on it (something in the back of your mind screams but you can't stop yourself) and you crawl up onto his lap. You slither your way around to straddling the huge subjuggulator your Empress has pointed you at, and you run your graspers up his vest, your gaze feeling dead and static in your head. </p>
<p>(NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO)</p>
<p>"Nice to see some kind of motherfucking <i>blaspheming mutant</i> acting the way he fucking should," he rumbles and you moan, you gasp as he shoves you up his chest, his body so he can examine your bulge and nook. The fact that he can see your unhemocaste red, your mutant scarlet bulge and nook makes you feel uneasy (fucking TAINTSORE, this is the GRAND HIGHBLOOD, you're going to fucking DIE OH SWEET ASSHOLES) but you forget it in a moment, between one breath and the next. You find a way to hump your ass against his codpiece and croon, as sweet as any pailtoy ever could manage.</p>
<p>It's all you are. It's what you expect. You haven't ever been anything else.</p>
<p>"You know I think my <i>chucklevoodoos</i> can fuck a motherfucking bitch up, and then a ninja sees the shit that <i>you</i> can do and it ain't shit," the troll whose lap you're in croons, and you trill, finding a way to grind your ass down harder. Your face hurts from how hard you're smiling, but you can't stop. You don't know how to stop (she's FUCKING with your THINKPAN, you MORONIC NOOKLICKING BULGESORE).</p>
<p>"You wanna fuck him? His nook's real sweet," Your Empress coos, and you shiver, giving yourself over to the huge hands gripping your hips. Everything in your thinkpan feels like a bad dream - what's real is what's happening to you right now, and you're going to make Her proud.</p>
<p>All hail the Empress. All hail. All Hail. All ḣ̴̼͍̮̰̘̰͆̈́͑ă̷̗͗͆̃̓̽-̴̧̙̱̰̤̰̓̿̈́͋͝a̷̡̪̺̱̋l̵̫̞͚̂͘͜l̷̩̱͙̝͗̉͜ͅẖ̵̗̌́́ä̶̢͎̮̠̤͉́á̸̢̩̻̺̼̟̂͋ȁ̷̻͈̟͔̹̊͊͝a̵̭̜̎͒̎̈́ȃ̶̧͇͔̖̻̣̔̓͐ä̶̹̻̜͖͖̮͠i̸̟̤̓͌ͅļ̴͕͝-̸͙̰̤͙̜̌̿͗͑͂͜ä̴̩̗͔͔́̂̀̚l̶̗̞͈̺͇̀ͅḧ̸͕́̚a̴̝͇͚͉͗̐͒ḯ̷̡̯͓̼͍̹̀̂͊͗l̶̩̱͈̉-̷̬͈̭̤̔͛͝</p>
<p>Things go kind of weird there for a moment but when you manage to sort things out, there's a bulge sheathedeep in your nook and everything makes sense again. For a mutant like you, serving the Empress like this is all you can hope for. And whoever else She tells you to.</p>
<p>There's never been anything else in your life. You don't remember ever being anything else.</p>
<p>Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are the Empress' bulgetoy. </p>
<p>This is all you want in life, and you don't remember anything else. You are happy. You are content.</p>
<p>Ỹ̵͓͚̾̒̉͘o̴̲̹͒̓́u̶̬͊͜ ̵̧̙̭̳̥̐a̸̧̹̰̠͈͙͐̅r̴̞͙̰̎ḙ̵͛͒ ̵̎͋͜h̷̝̊̋̈a̴̛̳̔̓p̶̥̫͓͈̣̓́͑͛̐̅p̴̻͊͆y̵̨̘̜̬̞͉͛̾.̵̹͉̝̯̘̎͜</p>
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<a name="section0029"><h2>29. death is only a horizon; and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b> 29. Three-or-more-some | Dual Or More Bulges</b> | Drugs | Cybering</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"This," you inform Sollux seriously as you trail your fingers up the length of his dual bulges with serious and flirtatious intent, "is science!"</p><p>"I thought it was about you getting your fronds all over my bulges but go off, Harley," Sollux snorts, and you huff a bit, rolling your eyes at him. He just sort of sneers at you a little bit, the way he does whenever you even get <i>close</i> to discussing anything besides code and computers in the realm of science. </p><p>"Not just <i>your</i> bulges, chumknugget," Mituna says gleefully and you nod your head as he wrestles with the zip on his jumpsuit. You hadn't understood why he wore it, before you saw him eat shit on a skateboard jump. It had been impressive as fuck! Both how hard he ate it and how he'd popped back up again afterwards saying that he was ok. You can appreciate that. It's always good to see someone else who can take a lickin' and keep on ticking! Anyway, this is a sort of experiment for you but you'd made everything clear to everyone before you started. "Bitchez just can't keep their graspers off Captor <i>BULGE</i> and th-that's the truth."</p><p>"Boo, you're both gross," you comment briefly, but once Mituna wrestles his zipper down and lets the jumpsuit slip off his shoulders until it winds up somewhere around his waist, limp and unfilled without his body inside it, you reach out with your other hand to stoke his bulges as well. Unlike Sollux, Mituna shows a little fucking <i>appreciation</i> for your work, humming and trilling softly as you jerk them both off together.</p><p>You really have to concentrate. Four bulges is a <i>lot</i> to wrangle! If you had dreambot Jade with all her arms, it'd be easier, that's for sure. But you only have two hands right now, so you'll deal with what you've got. You're really good at managing with limited resources! It's one of the things you've always had to do. Ever since you were what - three, four? - and your grandpa passed away. Suddenly, and unexpectedly, and you'd suddenly had the dilemma of a red hot taxidermy in your lap.</p><p>Anyway, that has nothing to do with either of the two trolls in front of you and you flash a toothy grin up at Mituna, while both of your hands stroke and twist and encourage the two sets of dual bulges you've got in front of you. Somewhere in the back of your mind is a rhythm as you stroke and grip, making sure to let the smooth grip of your hands stroke from base to tip over both of the Captors you're dealing with.  The bulges tangle over your fingers and it's something harder to deal with than you remember playing double bass being.</p><p>Though to be fair, when you'd been playing double bass you'd had <i>two</i> sets of hands. You're kind of stuck as it is right now to just one pair, but you substitute in your mouth here and there. Licking at the tips, switching off between the two sets while you listen to both Sollux and Mituna hiss and groan and trill. If there's anything it reminds you of, it's the cicadas in summer when you'd been stuck on your island alone. The way they hum resonates inside your bones and you make your own soft growling noises as you lavish attention on first one set of bulges, than the other. Eagerly bobbing your head, furred and elongated ears twitched forward with interest as you lick and suck and make sure that your fingers keep gripping, keep stroking. Keep moving.</p><p>"Bitchez ain't - they ain't <i>shit</i>," Mituna croons above your head, and you deliver a punishing suck to his bulges while you squeeze hard at Sollux's. Your kinda - you guess that's what it is - kismesis jerks into your grip with a softly sworn <i>fuck</i> and you feel the thrill of it inside your bones. You're not a troll, you don't <i>do</i> passionate hatred but you love fucking with Sollux anyway. You can't help it! It's just too much fun. And Mituna feels pretty much the same way, which is why all three of you are here like this in one of your greenhouses, surrounded by the scent of decaying leafmatter and green growing things as you wink solemnly behind your glasses, and then lean in to lick Sollux's bulges right up the split.</p><p>"Jesus, Harley!" If you were  a little meaner down in your heart, you'd bite him for the way he grabs at the dense dark cloud of your curled hair, clawed fingers digging in almost to the point of grazing your scalp. You let your own growl rumble up, feeling Bec's - spirit, you guess? - Bec's dogginess reverb through your body for a moment. </p><p>"Watch your <i>fucking</i> hands," you warn. Just because you're the one on your knees doesn't mean shit. It doesn't mean you've given anything up and you feel the outraged surge of everything you are rise up in you for a moment. Fangs bared, and ears flinched back against your skull, the need for blood surging in your mouth. </p><p>Sollux is smart enough to pull back a little, patting at your hair like he could erase the offence while Mituna cackles sharply at his not quite ancestor's display of surrender. You guess when your bulges are in range of someone else's sharp fucking teeth, you are prone to be a little more diplomatic than usual. What an <i>asshole</i>. You can't wait to see the additions he's got to your code once you're past this little experiment.</p><p>You can't remember what it was really for now, and you don't care. What matters is making Sollux keep making those sounds like you're killing him while Mituna roasts him from here to the furthest reach of the bubbles. Even while his own hips twitch forward to your mouth and hands, as you manage the multitasking effort of attending to both Captors at the same time with just one mouth and one set of hands.</p><p>Well. Let no one say Jade fucking Harley ever shirked a challenge! With a will, you bend yourself to sucking off Mituna, while one hand strokes harder at Sollux. You have to use your other hand to keep Mituna's bulges contained enough to get them in your mouth, and the taste isn't anything like what you've licked off your fingers from yourself (from before or after you melded your physical body with Bec's) but it isn't <i>bad</i>. It's different enough that you want more of it.</p><p>You cock an eyebrow up at Sollux while you let Mituna's bulges press down to your throat, and you know - even though this isn't over yet - that you've won. And that makes this as worthwhile as anything else. Everything between your thigh <i>throbs</i> demandingly but you aren't ready to quit what you're doing yet. You bet if you infuriate Sollux enough, he'll find a way to rise to the occasion! He's just that kind of guy - and that's what you like/hate about him.</p>
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<a name="section0030"><h2>30. mrs robinson, you're trying to seduce me (aren't you) (Warning: Mommy kink, age gap)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>30. <b>Titty Fucking</b> | Tights/Lingerie | Trickster Mode | Tentacles</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You probably should feel bad about this, but you always been kind of gray around the edges when it comes to morals. And ethics. All that shit you should have learned when you were a wee thing, was just a swing and fuckin' miss as far as you were concerned. It's why you're where you are, on your knees with your tight skirt rucked up almost to your waist so's you can get <i>down</i>, shirt unbuttoned, bra straps somewhere down around your elbows as you use your tits to squeeze and stroke at the young eager cock of one of your daughter's friends. One of her <i>best</i> friends.</p><p>You really just can't help yourself. You know when a fella wants you, when he's aching for what you've got to provide. Just because Davey dearheart is a little young, doesn't mean he can't give you the attention you're aching for. The <i>affection</i>. Which is the thing you really want. Boys are kinder than men, even though they're far more selfish. They know what they want, and they know you can give it and you're willing enough to do so. When it suits you. And they're oh so very appreciative while they're getting it.</p><p>Right now, Dave is panting while he hangs onto the doorframe of your room and you're using your bewbies to stroke and massage his dick, and you coo with pleasure as you look up into his face. Somewhere in your house is your daughter and all her other friends, besides this one that you've managed to subvert to your femininene wiles. And that's all you care about right now; the way Dave looks down at you and the way you know he wants you. It's just nice to be wanted, sometimes. Thassall.</p><p>"Feels good?" you croon, and squeeze the lush curves of your breasts together tighter, giving the kid a channel to really fuck into. Nothing like the girls his age could manage. It takes time (or ca$h) to make tits like you have. And you want to make clear, you're all au naturel, <i>baby</i>. "Mmm, I think it <i>does</i>..."</p><p>"Fuck, yes, just - " Dave pants above your head, his clenched fist knocking softly against the frame of the door as he struggles not to give in. You grin up at him, and stroke a little slower for a moment while he shudders. Aww, he's so cute! His face is all red and sweaty, and he keeps biting his lip as the head of his cock slips in and out of visibility in your cleavage. You wonder what he sees when he looks down at you. A mature woman in her prime, mouth painted black and blonde curls slipping down to veil her eyes as effectively as his round-lensed shades hid his. "Oh <i>god</i>," he moans like he's praying and you dip your head down to lick at the head of his cock as it pops up again out of the Valley of <i>De-sire</i>. "Mmm<i>ah</i> - fuck -"</p><p>Uh huh, and what was that? Your keen ears rarely deceive you to any nuance they can pick up on, and you've got an even keener sense for people's lil kinks and foybles. You smirk a bit, and try to look up at Dave at the same time you give his dick another lick. Just how many licks was it gonna take to get the centre of this Tootsie Pop? Probably not as many as that ole owl would thunk!</p><p>"What was that, Dave? Were you gonna call me somethin'?" you murmur, and pause for a moment. Just to really put the screws on the situation, as his expression twists agonised and he tries to buck into the softness of your breasts. You let your grip slip a little, not letting him do much more than slick his precum across your skin while you wait on his answer. Since you're such a golly dang softie, you take pity on him and answer for him. "I think you were gonna call me mommy, issat right?"</p><p>"I - you - <i>uhhh</i> -" He looks horrified and turned on, and you know you're right. You grin, showing your teeth and push your titties back together to give him the friction he's craving. Mm yeah, between your sweat and what's coming outta him, you're real nice and slick in that chasm. You wonder what he'd do if you let him stick it in your vajayay. Probably fuckin' cry, because your holiest of holies is a motherfucking <i>wonder</i> of the earth and he's only a teen boy who has never gotten further than Rosie Palm before, you bet.</p><p>It's always nice to induct someone into learning something new. Especicallly when it's how nice it can feel to have someone treat you nice, wonk.</p><p>"C'mon, baby boy, you're being <i>so good</i> for Mommy," you encourage in the dulcet cooing tones of a restful and so very fuxking maternal dove (lmao). Well. You don't really get to act very maternal with Rose, she don't really stand for it. She's a grown up, independent kind of gel, always has been but some part of you wants something to coddle and to hold. To smother. There's a twist to the way Dave gasps when he opens his mouth that says to you, that he'll let you do all of that. That he's hungry for it. Only makes sense, if it isn't getting it at home that he'd go looking for it somewhere else. And you're basically Lady fucking Bountiful - you're <i>more</i> than willing to provide. Ooh, he's just too cute...you're going to be getting your vibe out after this, you're all wet between your thighs and your panties feel clinging and damp. "Mommy wants you to cum, baby, all over her tits, c'mon, c'mon...you're such a <i>good boy</i>, you're so good, so <i>precious</i>..."</p><p>That's what does it, you're pretty sure because he goes off just like a shaken bottle of champagne. You squeal a little, delighted and disgusted as he cums not just all over your lovely jubblies but up to your neck and your cheek. Gosh! A bit more than just the necklace with these youthful pearls, lmayo. You try not to laugh as you squeeze out the last of what he's got, leaving your skin shimmering with the spill of spunk he's spouted all over you. Males, and boys sometimes more than men, can be so <i>very</i> sensitive. Honestly, right now you don't think Davey is gonna notice jack or fucking shit about what you're doin', he's too busy trying to deal with just cumming with someone else's assistance. He really is a sweet boy. You hope Rose brings him round more often.</p><p>Dave is panting and holding onto the door again as you drag a finger through the semen on your chest and pull it up to your eye level to inspect it for a moment, before licking it clean. He makes a dying sound, like he wants nothing more than to get started again and you don't hold bac your smirk. Yeah, Roxanne Lalonde, you still got <i>it</i>, got it in spades. No matter that you're old enough to have a daughter in high school, several doctorates and a death ray in the basement.</p><p>"Dave!" you hear one of the kids call out, and Dave stiffens. You smirk at him, and lick your finger again like you're licking the most delicious cream and you are the most contendednt of kitty cats. It doesn't taste that good, you gotta be real here hey, but you know how to pretend. Also, it isn't like he's a smoker yet. That's the fugging worst when it comes to swallowing, tee be aitch.</p><p>"Go on," you urge, and reach up to tuck him back in and zip up his pants, closing up the barn door. If your hands linger, you don't think you can be blamed. "Your pals are looking for you, Dave. And Mommy needs to clean up." You wiggle your eyebrows at him, and enjoy the tortured expression he has that says he really <i>really</i> wants to stay and knows he can't.</p><p>"Um - yeah, thanks, uh...Mommy," he rushes out at the end and he's so red you'd swear you could fry an egg on his face. He kind of adjusts himself in his pants, tugs them up a bit and then walk-runs off like he's trying to seem cool but can't quite manage it. Oh, teenagers. Wanting to be adult and rushin' to it and not getting why they really should wait. </p><p>After a moment of watching him go and disappear around the corner of a corridor, you grunt a bit (ugh, you really ain't gettin any younger, as your knees like to tell you) and you pull yourself to your feet and turn around to go back into your bedroom. Close the door behind you. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror over your make up table, and you throw yourself a slow smile. Blow yourself a kiss.</p><p>"Yep, still got it," you tell yourself and go to shower the cum off your tits and face, then get dressed in something that doesn't smell of teen desperation and your own perfume. The kids'll need to be fed eventually, but you bet they can wait until you have a chance to get yourself off. It's not like you're the one that's going to be cooking, lolz, you'll just order some pizzas for em or something. And another series of martinis for you. </p><p>Humming to yourself as you turn on the shower, you think you're gonna encourage Rosey Posie to have her friends around more often.</p>
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<a name="section0031"><h2>31. growing up has made me numb (and i want to feel something again)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>31. Wildcard, Choose A Passed Up Prompt!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <b>Grimdark | Tentacles | Horrorterrors</b></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There ain't many who'd feel comfortable here like this, but you ain't most people. Sometimes you think there's barely a person-centre left to you at all, you're all hollow on the inside and made ready like an egg casing to be filled with glorious narrative purpose. All husked and existing in a state of motherfucking potential, like a jack in the box with no clown on the inside. But just maybe there is a clown, ain't no motherfucker gonna know for sure until they turn the handle and keep on turning until the lid pops open. Just maybe there is a clown on the inside, indeed.</p>
<p><span class="rose">A͟r͝e̢͞͝ ̷̛͝w҉e͢ ̛͜͠b̕͟o͝r̢̕i̶͠n͘g͠ ̴̴̨y͏o̕͞u,͟ ҉Ga̸҉m͘z̶̕e̷͞e̷͝͝,</span> Rosesis enquires and her voice strokes through your brain like her tentacles are stroking all over your skin. You shake your head cos no fucking way that's true, you ain't bored an ounce. You're never bored when you're out here, you're just that much more aware of your deus ex machina status in the Game. It makes a motherfucker all philosophical and shit.</p>
<p>"Nah, a motherfucker be all pleased to be here and...mmmfuck, ready to be receiving of any attentions you two wanna give a ninja," you say, and wiggle your eyebrows in her vague direction. It's always heady to be here and to be cradled between the two of them. It's like nothing any motherfucker could get any other place, you gotta go all the way to the Outer Rings for it. A soft chuckle tickclicks through your thinkpan and reverberates in that part of your thorax you'd been told hived what there was of your soul, feeling strings plucked all the way through you with just the sound of his voice.</p>
<p><span class="dirk">We'͞r̴e̸ ͡always ha҉ppy ̧to̴ ͜a̶cc̷omm͡od҉ąte ҉gues̛ts,͟ ev̵en w̢hen ̴the͞i̛r ̡mind͟s ̕w͡ande̛r.͟ ̕Es̸p̴ecįally͝ whe͝n҉ ţhe̷y͘'re̶ ͟as h̡and̛som̨e a̴s͟ ou̵r f̡avouri͞t͢e̕ c̷lơwn.͢ Isn̨'̛t th̨a̛t҉ ̨corr̷e͢c̢t͝, Rose̛?͢</span> Dirk's voice is as invasive as the grip of his appendages, and you feel yourself cradled and tilted, wretched and devious limbs starting to deftly undo all your fastenings and strip you bare of the Godtier fakery you're wearing. You'd have the real things and the wings to boot if you could actually motherfucking decease, but that's a trick you're not allowed to get the hang of. Sometimes you got to wonder what it would be <i>like</i>, if you could just talk to another motherfucking one of you, share news, knock thinkpans and maybe puzzle out something new. Do what every other player has the grace to. But nah. There's only you - <span class="gamzee">AND MOTHERFUCKING YOU.</span></p>
<p>"Got a lot on my pan - you know how it motherfucking is," you sigh, surrendering to the mass of sinuous limbs cradling you like the best motherfucking kind of embrace. It's all over you, it's tight and kindly cruel, and you know that they want you to be where you are, and they don't want to let you go. It's more than some motherfuckers in your past have allowed you, and you push the thought off before it becomes more than a glimmer, but you can feel Dirk tensing behind you (in front of you, beside you). He ain't never like that shit in your pan, he's been lonely as fuck too and he knows just how much it stings to be left behind (left ahead), to be alone.</p>
<p><span class="rose">If ͡di͠st͝r̵ac̨t͠i͘on i̛s ̸wh͠at ̛y̢ou̷'ve ͡c͡ome f̷or͜, t͡hen ̛we̸'l҉l͞ ͏make̴ sure y͠ou'r̕e͏ ̧ve͏ry̵ d̛i͡st̶r̕a͏ct̕ed,͝</span> Rose purrs and the obsidian tentacles tighten, pull your limbs apart and you make no effort to protest or fight. Why would you, when you're just getting to the good stuff? Every so often you see Rose or Dirk in something close to the human forms they had once, before they succumbed to the call of their Aspects and the denizens of the Outer Rings. It's loss that makes a motherfucker go grimdark and you don't know how you haven't, when you've let so much slip through your graspingstubs. Maybe that's it - you let slip, and the choice of losing something important, someone important was taken from them by other fronds. The Game is unfuckingfriendly, and unkind as It churns (grinds its way over bodies of dead wigglers) Its way to fulfilment, and there ain't shit any motherfucker can do about that.</p>
<p><span class="dirk">It wo̢ul͏d be ̕u͞nneig̷h͝b̨ou͜r̢ly̛ ̕to ̴ḑo ͘ot͢herwi̷sȩ,</span> Dirk comments and you would say something but two tentacles are already gently tapping at your maw for entrance. Y'ain't no kind of ninja to say no to someone asking so motherfucking politely and when you part your lips, they slide their way inside gently. The taste on your flavourslab is grit and stardust, emptiness and darkness, something like nothing you've ever tasted before no matter how many motherfucking times you do this. Cool, cooler than you and empty. Sometimes you think they're just trying to fill themselves up by filling <i>you</i> up, but since you'd hate the thought of being some kinda scrubass grifting motherfucker - you don't mind a jottle, not at fucking all.</p>
<p>Something of Rose-the-Girl materialises in the nonexistent void of the Rings and when she comes close she leaves her kiss on your cheek; you wonder if she left black behind or a smear of pure light. Could be either, could be both, a sort of glowing other-black and distinctly Outer Realmian. You never really change but the way they touch you, experience your body - it makes you feel as close to change, to metamorphosis of something other than the narrative kind that you've felt since you entered the Game. </p>
<p><span class="rose">You'r͡e ̷s̶ti͜l̡l͘ thi̶nking͟,</span> she says into the folds of your thinkpan, almost sarcastically scolding but in a kindly, sort of bossy way and you'd say something if you could but your chirpblister is all full of tentacles and the beginning traces of slime. Gagging around void-width, you swallow and feel the tentacles push even deeper while encroachments start to happen at your nether ends. <span class="rose">Wę'͏l͏l̶ ̧ha̧ve to d̷o ̨so҉methi̷n͏g ͢about ͏tḩat͡. ̧W̧on't̵ we҉,̧ Di̶rk̶.</span></p>
<p><span class="dirk">H̨e͞ll͞ ͟ye̡a͝h,̸ h͟e̴ll ͡mo͘t̛h̢er̸fucking y̷e͏ah̡,</span> he says with a hum that betokens both humour and serious motherfucking business. You relax further into the tentacles and know yourself in the care of those who are both neutral about you and absolutely taken with the idea of taking your consciousness to pieces. As far as the Game will allow. There's limits, even to the Outer Rings. Sometimes you don't know whether you're pleased or unhappy about that. It does depend on the motherfucking time of night and the sense of pulse within your pusher, the hum of your pan. <span class="dirk">I ̷li͢k͠e͞ t̨o͞ thi͢nk ͜we̷'re h̵er̨e̷ ͘to̵ p͢l̢ea͟se̶.</span></p>
<p><span class="rose">T͢o͠ ͏en̵t̢e͟rtain̵,</span> Rose adds in a voice that shivers through you to the skeletal struts, and those tentacles that were just simply nudging, went from nudging to <i>thrusting</i> in a way that makes your spine arch like the downturned mouth of the second, darker of the Messiahs. <span class="rose">W̨e ͢w̨ouldn'̕t ̸want̷ y̢o͝u̶ ţh̨i̧n̸k t̛h͜at ̢is ̕a̸n͏yt̵hing̡ l̷a̕ck͜in̨g ͠i̴n t͘h͟e͜ ͏w͠a̛y o̸f ͝hospit̨ality͜ ͢o̡u͜t̶ ͜h̴e͠re,͞ Mr ̷Maka͢r͠a̴. ̵As ҉mu͜ch as ̧w͡e͠ ma͞y҉ be̵ lac͢ki̵n̕g ̕in͜ ͡p̡hy̷s͢i̷ca͘l͝iti̷eş. </span></p>
<p><span class="dirk">You ne͠ed t̛o k͏now ͠how ͘to̴ ̢w̨o҉r̶k wi̢t̕h ̷what̴ ͟y̧o̷u've̸ got,</span> the other hums in a voice that is all interest and so cold, all click and pull, strings tied to what there is left of your soul as he tugs and manipulates so deftly to bring you to ruin. To wrack. After all, he was a motherfucking Prince once, and that counts for more than what people would think. </p>
<p><span class="rose">And͘ y͜o̢u͏ ̶do͞ ̴give̶ ̕us ͠s͞o̵ ̛much ͜to̸ ̷work̸ w̡i̷th҉, Ģamz͏ee,</span> Rose sighs and you feel a trace of grasping fronds lingeringly touching along your horns, making you shudder. It's the softness of a touch that undoes you, not pain. It's gentle but it ain't affectionate but your corpsehusk knows no difference, it's had so little of both. <span class="rose">Ho҉ne̷s҉tl̕y̴,͘ įt͝'̧s̛ a gi̢f̶t.</span></p>
<p>You're glad you could give something to someone that was appreciated. It's a kind of quid pro fucking quo, you guess. They give you and empty you - and you give and let them empty. A motherfucking ouroboros, eating and being swallowed. And you'll leave, but they'll still be here anytime you feel like you need a return visit. </p>
<p>But right motherfucking now, you're gonna take advantage of this chance not to think anymore, and find some kind of respite from the way the Game shoves you around like a motherfucking piece on a checkered board and get your brains <i>hellrighteously</i> fucked out. The emptiness of everything around you almost hums with agreement, and you can feel Rose and Dirk getting focused in on what they're doing with all the things they have at their disposal and you just - let go.</p>
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